An instant later, in a big room which had the appearance of an office, Harlan was confronting Haydon.

The latter was sitting in a chair at a desk, and when Harlan entered Haydon got up and grinned at him, shallowly, without mirth.

"So you got here," he said; "I've been expecting you."

"I've been notin' that. That guy you left at the edge of the level to keep an eye on the Rancho Seco didn't cover his tracks. I run onto them--an' I saw him hittin' the breeze--comin' here. I reckon n.o.body is surprised." Harlan grinned widely.

"So you noticed that," said Haydon, answering Harlan's grin. "Well, I don't mind admitting that we've kept an eye on you. You've had me guessing."

Haydon's manner was that of the man who is careful not to say too much, his constraint was of the quality that hints of a desire to become confidential--a smooth, bland courtesy; a flattering voice--encouraging, suggesting frankness.

Harlan's manner was that of a certain reckless carelessness. He seemed to be perfectly at ease, confident, deliberate, and unwatchful. He knew Haydon was an outlaw; that the men who had been grouped in front of the bunkhouse were members of Haydon's band; he knew the man who had escorted him to the Star had been deliberately stationed in the timber to watch for him. And he had no doubt that other outlaws had lain concealed along the trail to observe his movements.

He knew, too, that he had placed himself in a precarious predicament--that his life was in danger, and that he must be exceedingly careful.

Yet outwardly he was cool, composed. With Haydon's eyes upon him he drew a chair to a point near the desk, seated himself in it, drew out paper and tobacco, and rolled a cigarette. Lighting it, he puffed slowly, watching while Haydon dropped into the chair he had vacated at Harlan's appearance.

When Haydon dropped into his chair he grinned admiringly at Harlan.

"You're a cool one, Harlan," he said; "I've got to say that for you. But there's no use in four-flushing. You've come here to tell me something about the chain. Where did you find it?"

"At Sentinel Rock--not far from where you plugged Lane Morgan."

"You're a.s.suming that I shot Morgan?" charged Haydon.

"Morgan was a.s.sumin', too, I reckon," grinned Harlan. "He told me it was you who shot him--he saw your face by the flash of your gun. An' he told me where to look for the chain--him not knowin' it was a chain--but somethin'."

Haydon's eyes gleamed with a cold rage--which he concealed by pa.s.sing a hand over his forehead, veiling his eyes from Harlan. His lips were wreathed in a smile.

"Why didn't you tell me that the other day--the first time I met you?"

Harlan laughed. "I was havin' notions then--notions that I'd be playin'

her a lone hand."

"And now?" Haydon's eyes were steady with cold inquiry.

"I've got other notions. I'm acceptin' Deveny's invitation to throw in with you."

Haydon was silent for an instant, and during the silence his gaze met Harlan's fairly. By the humorous gleam in Harlan's eyes Haydon divined that the man could not be misled--that he knew something of the situation in the valley, and that he had come here with the deliberate intention of joining the outlaw band.

There was, as Haydon had intimated, little use for an attempt at equivocation or pretense. It was a situation that must be faced squarely by both himself and Harlan. Harlan's reputation, and his action in keeping secret from Barbara Morgan the ident.i.ty of her father's murderer, indicated sincerity on the man's part. And since Harlan knew him to be the murderer of Morgan it would be absurd for Haydon to pretend that he had no connection with Deveny's band. He could not fool this man.

Yet a jealous hatred of Harlan was thinly concealed by the steady smile with which he regarded his visitor. He had felt the antagonism of Harlan that day when he had talked with him at the bunkhouse door; Harlan's manner that day had convinced him that Harlan was jealous of his attentions to Barbara Morgan. Also, there was in his heart a professional jealousy--jealousy of Harlan's reputation.

For this man who sat in his chair so calmly, with danger encompa.s.sing him, was greater than he. Haydon knew it. Had there been any doubt in his mind on that score it must have been removed by a memory of the manner in which his men had received the news that Harlan had left the Rancho Seco and was on his way up the valley.

The rider Harlan had seen had come in with that news--and Haydon had been standing with the group at the bunkhouse when the man arrived. And he had not failed to note the nervous glances of some of the men, and the restless eagerness, not unmixed with anxiety, with which they watched the trail.

And now, facing Harlan, he felt the man's greatness--his especial fitness for the career he had adopted. Harlan was the ideal outlaw. He was cool, deep, subtle. He was indomitable; he felt no fear; his will was inflexible, adamant. Haydon felt it. The fear he had experienced at his first meeting with Harlan had endured until this minute--it was strong as ever.

Yet he admired the man; and knew that since he had come to the valley he must be considered an important factor. Haydon could not flatly tell him to get out of the valley; he could not order him away from the Rancho Seco. Harlan was in control there--for the rider who had come in with the news that Harlan had set out for the valley had also apprised Haydon of the coming, to the Rancho Seco, of the men of the T Down outfit.

The rider had not been able to tell Haydon who the men were, of course; but it made little difference. They were friends of Harlan's, for they had come from the direction of the desert--from Pardo.

It was plain to Haydon that Harlan had come to the valley to stay. It was equally plain that he must be either propitiated or antagonized. He felt that Harlan was giving him his choice.

"What do you want--if you throw in with us?" Haydon asked, following the trend of his own thoughts.

"That's straight talk," said Harlan. "I'm givin' you a straight answer.

If I join your bunch I join on the same footing with you an'

Deveny--nothin' less. We split everything three ways--the other boys takin' their regular share after we take ours. I bring my boys in under the rules you've got that govern the others. I run the Rancho Seco--no one interferin'. When I rustle up that gold old Morgan hid, we split it three ways. Barbara Morgan goes with the ranch--no one interferin'."

Color surged into Haydon's face.

"You don't want much, do you?" he sneered.

"I want what's comin' to me--what I'm goin' to take, if I come in. That's my proposition. You can take it or leave it."

Haydon was silent for an instant, studying Harlan's face. What he saw there brought a frown to his own.

"Harlan," he said softly, "some of the boys feel a little resentful over the way you sent Dolver and Laskar out. There are several friends of those two men outside now. Suppose I should call them in and tell them that the bars are down on you--eh?"

If Haydon expected his threat to intimidate Harlan, he was mistaken.

Harlan sat, motionless, watching the outlaw chief steadily. And into his eyes came a glitter of that cold contempt which Haydon had seen in them on the day he had faced Harlan near the bunkhouse at the Rancho Seco.

"You're doin' the honors, Haydon," he said. "If you're that kind of a coyote I don't want to deal with you. If you think you want to pa.s.s up a share of that hundred thousand, start yappin' to them boys. It's likely there's some of them hangin' around, close. Mebbe you've got some of them peekin' around corners at me now. I ain't runnin' from no trouble that comes my way. Get goin' if you're yearnin' to requisition the mourners."

Rage over the threat was now plain in his eyes, for they were aflame with a cold fire as he got up from his chair and stood, crouching a little, his hands lingering near the b.u.t.ts of his guns.

Haydon did not move, but his face grew pallid and he smiled nervously, with shallow mirth.

"You are not in a joking mood today, Harlan?" he said.

"There's jokes, _an'_ jokes, Haydon. I've come here in good faith. I've been in camps like this before--in Kelso's, Dave Rance's, Blondy Larkin's, an' some others. Them men are outlaws--like you an' me; an'

they've done things that make them greater than you an' me--in our line.

But I've visited them, free an' easy--goin' an' comin' whenever I pleased. An' no man threatenin' me.

"Your manners is irritatin' to me--I'm tellin' you so. I'm through!

You're takin' me out, now--back to the Rancho Seco. You're ridin' behind me--minus your guns, your mouth shut tighter than you ever shut it before. An' if there's any shootin' you'll know it--plenty!"

Harlan had brought matters to a crisis--suddenly, in a flash. The time for pretense had gone. Haydon could accept Harlan upon the terms he had mentioned, or he could take up the man's challenge with all it implied--bitter warfare between the two factions, which would be unprofitable to both, and especially to Haydon.

It was for Haydon to decide; and he sat for some seconds motionless in the chair, before he spoke.

Then he got up--taking care to keep his right hand at a respectable distance from the b.u.t.t of his pistol, and smilingly held out his hand.

"It goes your way, Harlan--we take you in on your terms. I beg your pardon for saying what I did. That was just to try you out. I've heard a lot about you, and I wanted to see if you were in earnest--if you really wanted to come in. I'm satisfied."

They shook hands; their gaze meeting as they stood close together. The gaze endured for an instant; and then Haydon's fell. The handshake lasted for several seconds, and it was curious to see how Haydon's eyes, after they had become veiled from Harlan's by the drooping lids, glowed with a malignant triumph and cunning.