"This game's to be run on the square. Do you get me?"
"Right-o!" agreed McClure. "We'll shear these lambs on Hallowe'en."
Ignoring the jibe Ned Pullar pointed to the checks wedged in the pile of bills. They were McClure's and his own. Speaking quietly to Butte he said:
"You'll cash those papers and re-bank the whole amount in your own name?"
"Exactly!" replied Butte, flashing sharp eyes at the young boss.
"Good!" was the low response.
Taking a step nearer McClure, Pullar fastened his eyes on the face of his enemy. The lips of the older man were parted about to make some insulting fling when he bit his tongue. Ned's eyes were smiling but behind the smile glittered an ominous light that made McClure strike an attitude of defense. He retreated a step, watching the other. In an instant the air was electric. There was a shout from the Valley men and they leaped up beside their boss.
"Since this little deal is satisfactorily arranged, McClure," said Ned casually, "it may occur to you that your cows need milking. At any rate, the Valley Gang have taken a sudden whim to be alone. Think it over. We'll give you exactly one minute to get out. If you are here sixty seconds hence we'll maul you a little and—throw you out."
Ned took his watch from his pocket while the Valley Gang let out a defiant and joyful shout.
There was a malignant growl from the belligerent gang across the room at the sudden challenge. Rage swept over them but they made no move to close with their taunting enemies. The Valley men flung jeer and jibe in wild effort to provoke a charge. Hissing a terrible oath McClure turned to his men. What he saw decided him. Pointing to the door he addressed them.