Jordan succeeded in looking up at Lawler now, and there was rage in his eyes—rage and offended dignity.
Both were artificial—Lawler knew it. And his smile as he looked into Jordan's eyes told the other of the knowledge.
Jordan got up, stung by the mockery in Lawler's eyes.
"Hell's fire, Lawler!" cursed Jordan; "can't you take a man's word?" He stepped back, viciously pulled open a drawer in the desk, drew out a paper—a yellow telegraph form, and slapped it venomously down on the desk in front of Lawler.
"It's ag'in' orders, but I'm lettin' you see it. Mebbe you'll take a man's word after this!" he sneered.
Lawler read the order. Then he calmly placed it on the desk. He looked at Jordan, whose gaze fell from his; he turned to Warden, who smiled jeeringly.
"There is nothing like thoroughness, whenever you do anything on a big scale, Warden," he said. "This order forces cattle owners in this section to drive cattle over a trail without proof of ownership. We fought for that vent law for a good many years, as a weapon against rustlers. This order leaves a cattle owner without protection against the horde of rustlers who infest the state. And the order is dated yesterday. This thing begins to look interesting."
He turned and walked out, not glancing back at the two men inside, who stood for a long time looking at each other, smiling.