"Hamlin, you're losing whatever sense you had," said Lawler as he halted
near the center of the big room. There were three rooms, their doors
opening from the one in which Lawler and Hamlin stood.

"Meanin' what?" demanded Hamlin, nervously fingering the six-shooter.

It was clear that Hamlin was impressed with the repressed force that he
could see in Lawler; with the slumbering energy that Lawler's lithe,
sinewy body suggested; with the man's complete lack of fear and with the
cold confidence that swam in his steady eyes.

Hamlin did not know at this minute whether or not he had meant to shoot
Lawler. He believed that if Lawler had told him he had come to take him
for blotting out the Circle L brand in the arroyo the preceding night he
would have killed Lawler. But he was not sure. Something about Lawler
made the thought of shooting him seem ridiculous. It would take a lot of
provocation for _any_ man to kill Lawler, for something about Lawler
seemed to hint that it couldn't be done.

"Meaning that you are old enough to know that you can't keep on rustling
my cattle without getting in trouble."

"Ah!" exclaimed Hamlin, his breath hissing through his teeth as he
sucked it in with a gasp; "you sneaked on me, damn you!"

He threw the muzzle of the pistol up, his body stiffening, his eyes
glittering with the malignance that had been in them when he had been
looking out at Lawler through the aperture in the door.

"You know about that deal, an' you've come for me. You tried to fool me,