He knew Lawler; knew him as perhaps no other man in the section knew
him. For he had seen Lawler using his gun. It had been some years
before, when Lawler had been proving himself--proving that he had a
right to the respect and consideration of his fellow-men; proving that
no man could trifle with him.
Antrim had been a witness to the shooting. He had marked Lawler's
coolness, the evenness of his temper; and had noted the deadly swiftness
and precision of his movements when he had drawn his pistol. Lawler had
not been the aggressor--a dozen other men had testified to that.
Antrim had not seen Lawler since, until now. And as he looked at him he
saw that the years had brought a change in the man. He had been a tall,
bold, reckless-looking youth then, with a certain wild waywardness in
his manner that might have destroyed him, had he yielded to it. Now he
was cold, calm, deliberate, imperturbable. The recklessness had
disappeared from his eyes; they were now aglow with quiet determination.
The waywardness had gone--ironlike resolution marked his manner.
And yet behind it all, Antrim could see the threat of those youthful
passions; the lurking eagerness for violent action; the hint of
preparedness, of readiness.
Antrim was startled, uneasy.
Pages:
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159