Warden's life. The passion that had surged through his veins during the
long ride to Warden's office had been the only force that could have
kept him going. It had burned within him like a raging fire, and it had
upheld his failing strength until he had sunk beside the desk with his
passion unsatisfied.

He had thought much of the incident during the days he had lain in the
room at the Willets Hotel, and later, while convalescing at the Circle
L. And he had been glad his strength had failed him before he did what
he had set out to do. For while there was no doubt in his mind that
Warden had been implicated in all the attacks that had been made upon
him, he had no legal proof--except the confession, signed by Link and
Givens--that Warden was guilty.

And, now that he had been elected, he intended to keep silent regarding
the confession. He hated Warden, but it was with something of the
passion a man feels who treads upon a poisonous reptile that attacks
him.

He meant to be generous in the moment of victory. Those men--Warden,
Perry Haughton, Hatfield, and the officials of the railroad company--had
performed according to their lights, using whatever power and influence
was at hand to gain their ends. But they had failed. Several bills now
pending in the legislature would effectually curb the powers of those
men and others of their kind; and he would see to it that there never
would be another opportunity for that sort of practice.

Lawler got up after a time, and walked to one of the big windows, where
he stood for some minutes looking out. Then he returned to his desk,
dropped into the chair, pulled open a deep drawer and took therefrom a