He had felt
that when he first had been made aware of their presence behind the
herd. He saw, too, that the men of his outfit felt as he did; for they
were all on their feet, their faces grim, their eyes glowing with the
rage that had gripped them over the presence of the unseen menace; their
muscles were tensed and their lips were in the sullen pout which
presages the imminence of action.
Shorty, the tawny giant, was a terrible figure. He seemed to be
outwardly cool, and there was not a sign of passion in his manner. His
hands swung limply at his sides, not a muscle in his body seeming to
move. Unlike the other men, he was calm, seemingly unperturbed. So
striking was the contrast between him and the other men that Lawler
looked twice at him. And the second time he saw Shorty's eyes--they were
gleaming pools of passion, cold, repressed.
"Easy, boys!" Lawler called to the men. "Don't let them suspect you know
they've been trailing us. They've got us two to one, almost--if they
mean trouble we'll have to work easy!"
He saw the men relax; and several of them resumed their former positions
at the fire.
The strange riders were coming steadily onward; they were not more than
a hundred yards distant when Blackburn exclaimed, hoarsely:
"Lawler; it's Blondy Antrim an' his gang! Damn his hide! We're in for
it!"
For the first time since Garvin had told him of the presence of the men
on the trail behind the herd, Lawler's face betrayed passion--the glow
in his eyes rivaled that in the giant's.
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