see.

Sanderson no longer tried to delude himself. A strange reluctance
oppressed him, and a mighty embarrassment seized him; his face grew
crimson beneath the coat of tan upon it, and his lungs swelled with a
dread eagerness that had gripped him.

"I reckon I'm a damn fool!" he told himself as he forced Streak onward;
"I'm comin' here, not knowin' why, but still a-comin'." He grinned,
mirthlessly, but went forward.

Heading toward the ranchhouse, he passed a huge building--the stable.
Swinging wide around one of its corners, he was about to ride onward
toward the ranchhouse, when out of the corners of his eyes he saw some
men and horses grouped in front of the stable.

He pulled Streak up with a jerk, swung the animal's head around and
faced the group. There were five horses, saddled and bridled, standing
in front of the stable. Sanderson's eyes noted that in one swift
glance. But it was upon a man that Sanderson's gaze centered as Streak
came to a halt.

The man dominated. There were other men standing in front of the
stable--and two women. But the man upon whom Sanderson's gaze rested
was the compelling figure.

He was big--rugged, muscular, massive. He saw Sanderson at about the
instant Sanderson saw him, and he faced the latter, his chin thrusting,
his lips pouting, his eyes gleaming with cold belligerence. He wore a
gray woolen shirt, open at the throat, revealing a strong, wide chest.