Lebrun was not in the gaming house, no doubt, at this time of night—but the rest of Nick's chosen men were there. They stood up as he entered the room—Harry Masters, newly arrived—the Pedlar—Joe Rix—three names famous in the mountain desert for deeds which were not altogether a pleasant aroma in the nostrils of the law-abiding, but whose sins had been deftly covered from legal proof by the cunning of Nick, and whose bravery itself had half redeemed them. They rose now as three wolves rise at the coming of the leader. But this time there was a question behind their eyes, and he read it in gloomy silence.
"Well?" asked Harry Masters.
In the old days not one of them would have dared to voice the question, but now things were changing, and well Lord Nick could read the change and its causes.
"Are you talking to me?" asked Nick, and he looked straight between the eyes of Masters.
The glance of the other did not falter, and it maddened Nick.
"I'm talking to you," said Masters coolly enough. "What happened between you and Donnegan?"
"What should happen?" asked Lord Nick.
"Maybe all this is a joke," said Masters bitterly. He was a square-built man, with a square face and a wrinkled, fleshy forehead. In intelligence, Nick ranked him first among the men. And if a new leader were to be chosen there was no doubt as to where the choice of the men would fall. No doubt that was why Masters put himself forward now, ready to brave the wrath of the chief. "Maybe we're fooled," went on Masters. "Maybe they ain't any call for you to fall out with Donnegan?"
"Maybe there's a call to find out this," answered Lord Nick. "Why did you leave the mines? What are you doing up here?"
The other swallowed so hard that he blinked.