Templeton Buck might have a dirty streak in him, but he was no coward.  
If the man's make-up held a large amount of deliberate criminality, of cold and unscrupulous evil, it also held a large amount of strength and resolute purpose. Otherwise, Buck could never have remained the leader of such men as followed him.
 
And on this bright and sunny morning Templeton Buck was facing the hardest battle he had ever faced—a battle with himself.
 
On the previous night he had learned of the disaster which had overwhelmed all his craftily laid plans. True, he had Jake Harper a prisoner, tied into the big chair before the fireplace. But Robinson had turned out to be Sam Fisher—and the roads were watched by the Circle Bar men.
 
The story told by the two men on the previous night had been utterly incredible, but with daylight it had been backed up when Sandy Davitt undertook to ride forth. Sandy's horse had been killed under him. No one else tried to leave the Running Dog buildings.
 
Here in the living room of the ranch house, alone with the old man tied into the chair, Buck paced up and down, fighting out his battle. Would he lie to his men, or tell them the truth? That was it.
 
From the chair old Jake Harper watched him with terrible, intent eyes.
 
"Give me your word to act gentle, and I'll loose you, Jake," said Buck.
 
"I'll give you my word," said Jake, his voice deadly, "that all I want is to git my hands on a gun, and I'll fill ye full o' lead, ye mis'able coyote!"
 
So Jake Harper remained where he was. Buck continued his steady pacing back and forth, then suddenly came to a pause before his captive and shot out a remark:
 
"Where I made a mistake was in killing Cervantes. I should have given him a chance."
 
Jake Harper swore at him angrily.
 
"Where you done made your mistake, Buck, was in tryin' to covet the Shumway place. You stole the Lazy S cattle, and you should ha' stopped there."
 
Silence again. Buck went on with his uneasy stride. It was a difficult decision which faced him.
 
At this moment, while he stood on the brink of disaster, Templeton Buck for the first time saw clearly how things had come to this pass. He was rich in money and land. He did not need the Shumway land added to his own. He was powerful.
 
Being rich and powerful, he had thought himself secure, had determined to get both Stella and the Lazy S, and had been careless as to his methods. Back in the old days, when Frank Shumway had knocked him down, he had revenged himself by sending young Shumway to the penitentiary—deliberately framing him.
 
He had not stopped there. One thing had led to another—little things, most of them. Like a rolling snowball, the affair had gained impetus. The one man Buck had feared was Sam Fisher, the sheriff of Pecos, and he had tried desperately to keep Fisher out of the way. Even now, he perceived, Fisher was the one man who threatened him.
 
If he could only be rid of Fisher! With Fisher out of the way all would yet be well. The murder of Cervantes could be met and faced down; with Sheriff Tracy handling the affair, no jury in the county would dare to convict Buck. Jake Harper could be held a prisoner until the mortgage was foreclosed. Lies and false witnesses would still serve to smooth the way.
 
Buck strode from the room, left the building, and passed over to the corrals. Here his entire outfit was lounging about as though waiting for his coming. Not until he met their nods and greetings did Buck come to a full decision as to what he would do.
 
For, as yet, these punchers knew nothing of the Cervantes killing beyond what had been reported from town. None of them had witnessed it. All of them, beyond a doubt, held strong suspicions. It had been a despicable act, even in their eyes.
 
Buck came to a halt, beckoned to the men, and met their curious stares with a flame of resolution in his eyes.
 
"Boys," he said quietly, "the story that Sam Fisher told in town was true. Steve Arnold must have seen the killing of Cervantes. We could have made it stick on Fisher, at that, if he hadn't been too smart for me."
 
Every man there appreciated what this confession meant to Buck.
 
"Now, boys," went on the rancher, "Sam Fisher is no fool. As things stand right now, he's playin' a strong game and a winnin' game. He's got us blockaded here, and the only thing left for me is to take my med'cine without a whine. I aim to do it. Still, that's no reason for draggin' you boys into the same noose, so I'm here to give each of you his time. You ain't workin' for me no more."
 
An outburst of protest was quieted by Buck's uplifted hand, in which was a roll of bills.
 
"Sandy Davitt! Come an' git it, puncher."
 
Davitt stepped up, started to speak, reddened, and checked the words. He took the money placed in his hand, and waited. One by one the other Running Dog men stepped up to Buck and received their wages. When it was finished Buck smiled thinly.
 
"Now, I reckon, you-all can git past the Circle Bar men."
 
Nobody moved. Of the eleven men who stood there in the sunlight around the tall figure of Templeton Buck, none budged. Sandy Davitt glanced around, hitched up his belt, and grinned at the rancher. His cast eye gave the grin a baleful aspect.
 
"Buck," he said, "I opine we ain't workin' for you no more. Is that c'rect?"
 
"You said it, Sandy."
 
"Then, far as I'm concerned, I don't give a durn about Cervantes. You've spoke out to us like a man, Buck, and by thunder I'm stickin' right here!"
 
"And me!" chimed in a voice. Then a chorus: "Me, too! We stays here, Buck!"
 
Buck stood in silence a long moment, his thin, high-boned features flushed darkly. It was a magnificent tribute these men paid him—a tribute of which he was unworthy. To the last one they were men; reckless, scoundrelly if you like, but men unafraid.
 
"Ain't none of you ridin' to town?" asked Buck.
 
"Nary one, I guess," Sandy Davitt made response. A growl of assent backed him up.
 
"I appreciate this, boys; I sure do!" Buck's tall figure straightened up. "Well, I give you the worst end of the talk on the start. It's true that Sam Fisher is playin' a winning hand so far, but he ain't raked in the pot by a long sight! He's bluffed out Tracy, and he's got Pahrump buffaloed—but all he's got behind him is the Circle Bar, and we've got Jake Harper here. That means we got t............