“Haw! Haw! Haw!” roared Las Vegas. He was as tense as a strung cord and his face possessed a singular pale radiance. His right hand began to quiver more and more.
“I'll—double—it!” panted Beasley. “I'll—make over—half the ranch—all the stock—”
“Swaller thet!” yelled Las Vegas, with terrible strident ferocity.
“Listen—man!... I take—it back!... I'll give up—Auchincloss's ranch!” Beasley was now a shaking, whispering, frenzied man, ghastly white, with rolling eyes.
Las Vegas's left fist pounded hard on the table.
“GREASER, COME ON!” he thundered.
Then Beasley, with desperate, frantic action, jerked for his gun.
CHAPTER XXVI
For Helen Rayner that brief, dark period of expulsion from her home had become a thing of the past, almost forgotten.