"Not that way!" Bayard exclaimed. "Not that, Benny! He's everything you've called him, but I can't foul him. I've got to be more'n square with him because he is ... her husband an' because she did ... send for me!"
For a moment the miner seemed to waver; a different look appeared in his eyes, an appreciation for the absolute openness of this man before him, his great sense of fair play, his honesty, his sincerity. Then, he remembered that minutes had been consumed, that his game was drawing to a climax.
"I can't help it," he said, doggedly, drawing back, "We understand each other now, Bruce, an' my advice to you is to clear out. Things'll happen right soon."
"What do you mean?" slowly, with incredulity.
"Don't you know they wasn't a mile behind you, on th' other side of them low bluffs?"
Bayard half turned, sharply, as though he expected to find Ann and Lytton directly behind him on the trail.
"God, no!" he answered in a hushed tone. "Rough country, that's why I didn't see 'em."
"Well, that's them ... a man an' woman. They ought to be here any minute."
Lynch's voice sank to a whisper on the last and he drew the gun from its scabbard, peering down the trail, listening. On sight of the colt, a flicker came into Bayard's eyes, his jaw tightened, his shoulders squared themselves.
"I'll go down an' meet him," the miner said quite calmly, though the color had gone even from his lips. "It's ..."