Hervey leaned a little from the saddle and peered anxiously at the "big
boss." He counted on creating a panic with his news. But a man past hope
might very well be a man past fear. Hopeless Oliver Jordan certainly had
been since his accident, hopeless and blind. That blindness had enabled
Hervey to reap tidy sums out of his management of the ranch, and now
that the coming of the sharp-eyed girl had cut off his sources of
revenue he was ready to fight hard to put himself back in the saddle as
unquestioned master of the Valley of the Eagles. But he could only work
on Jordan through fear and what capacity for that emotion remained in
the rancher. He struck at once.

"Jordan, have you got a gun with you?"

"Gun? Nope. What do I need a gun for?"

"Take this, then. It's my old gat. You know it pretty near as well as I
do."

A nerveless hand accepted the heavy weapon and allowed it to sink idly
upon his knee.

"How come?" drawled Jordan, and the heart of Lew Hervey sank. This was
certainly not the voice of a man liable to panic.

"You and me got a bad time coming, Jordan, when we get to the ranch.
He's there, and he's a devil for a fight!"

"Who?"