Guilt and fear were the emotions that had driven Hamlin to this rather hysterical threat. Lawler resisted an impulse to laugh, though he felt a pulse of grim humor shoot through him.
To his knowledge—excepting Hamlin's predilection to rustle cattle—the man was harmless. He never had been known to draw a gun, even in self-defense, and Lawler was convinced that there was not sufficient provocation for him to break one of the rules that had governed him until now. Hamlin might be goaded, or frightened, into using the rifle, but Lawler had no intention of goading or frightening him. In fact, being aware of the reason for Hamlin's belligerence, he had no intention of acquainting the man with the knowledge of what had happened the night before. At least, not at this instant.
Lawler's lips wore a shadowy smile.
"I reckon you don't know me, Hamlin?" he said.
"I know you mighty well, Lawler," snapped Hamlin; "you heard me mention your name!"
"Then you've got a new way of greeting your friends, eh—with a rifle. Well, put it down and open the door. There's some things I want to say to you."
"What about?" asked Hamlin, suspiciously. Overwhelming every other thought in his mind was the conviction that Davies and Harris had apprised Lawler of what had happened the night before, and that Lawler had come to capture him, single-handed.
"About Ruth."
The wild gleam in Hamlin's eyes began to dull. However, he was still suspicious.
"You seen any of your men this mornin'—Davies or Harris?" he asked.