Since the day he had heard that Harlan had appeared at the Star and had been taken into the outlaw band by Haydon, Deveny had exhibited fits of a sullen moroseness that had kept his closest friends from seeking his companionship. Those friends were few, for Deveny’s attitude toward his men had always been that of the ruthless tyrant; he had treated them with an aloofness that had in it a contempt which they could not ignore. More—he was merciless, and had a furious temper which found its outlet in physical violence.

Deveny was a fast man with the big Colt that swung at his hip, a deadly marksman, and he needed but little provocation to exhibit his skill. For that reason his men kept the distance Deveny had established between them—never attempting familiarity with him.

Deveny had heard from a Star man the story of Harlan’s coming to the Star and when a day or so later Haydon rode into the Cache, Deveny was in a state of furious resentment.

There had been harsh words between Haydon and Deveny; the men of the Cache had no difficulty in comprehending that Deveny’s rage was bitter.

Not even when Haydon told him that his acceptance of Harlan had been forced by circumstances, and that he was tricking Harlan into a state of fancied security in which he could the more easily bring confusion upon him did Deveny agree.

“You’re a damned fool, Haydon!” he told the other, his face black with passion. “That guy is slick as greased lightning—and faster. And he don’t mean any good to the camp. He’s out for himself.”

Deveny did not intimate that his dislike of Harlan had been caused by the latter’s interference with his plans the day he had held Barbara Morgan a prisoner in the room above the Eating-House in Lamo; but Haydon, who had heard the details of the affair from one of his men, smiled knowingly.

It was not Haydon’s plan to let Deveny know he knew of the affair, or that he cared about it if he had heard. And so he did not mention it.

But in his heart was a rage that made his thoughts venomous; though he concealed his emotions behind the bland, smooth smile of good-natured tolerance.

“I’ll handle him, Deveny,” he said as he took leave of the other. “He’ll get his when he isn’t expecting it.”

Deveny, however, had no faith in Haydon’s ability to “handle” Harlan. He had seen in the man’s eyes that day in Lamo something that had troubled him—an indomitability that seemed to indicate that the man would do whatever he set out to do.

But Deveny did not ride to the Star to see Harlan; he was reluctant to stir outside the Cache, and for many days, while Harlan was attaining supremacy at the Star, and while Haydon was absent on a mysterious mission, Deveny kept close to the Cache, nursing his resentment against Haydon, and deepening—with fancied situations—his hatred for Harlan.

It did not surprise Deveny when a Star man rode into the Cache one day and told him that Harlan had killed Latimer in a gunfight, and that Harlan was slowly but surely gaining a following among the men. The information did not surprise Deveny; but it sent his mind into a chaos of conjecture and speculation, out of which at last a conviction came—that Harlan was seeking control of the outlaw band; that Haydon’s days as a leader were almost over, so far as he was concerned. For if Haydon insisted on taking Harlan into the secret councils of the camp he—Deveny—was going to operate independently.

The more his thoughts dwelt upon that feature the more attractive it seemed to him. Independence of Haydon meant that he could do as he pleased without the necessity of consulting anybody. He could rustle whatever cattle he wanted—getting them where he could without following Haydon’s plans—which had always seemed rather nonsensical, embracing as they did the scheme of railroad building and town sites; and he could do as he pleased with Barbara Morgan, not having to consider Haydon at all.

It was that last consideration that finally decided Deveny. He was an outlaw—not a politician; he robbed for gain, and not for the doubtful benefits that might be got out of the building of a town. And when he looked with desire upon a woman he didn’t care to share her with another man—not even Haydon.

For two or three days after the conviction seized Deveny, he pondered over his chances, and when he reached a decision he acted with the volcanic energy that had characterized his depredations in the basin.

On the morning of the day upon which Haydon returned to the Star to find the cattle gone and Harlan in control, Deveny appeared to a dozen Cache men who were variously engaged near the corral, ordering them to saddle their horses.

Later, Deveny and his men rode southward across a low plateau that connected the buttes near the entrance to the Cache with the low hills that rimmed the basin. They traveled fast, and when they reached the rimming hills they veered eastward upon a broad sand plain.

There was a grin on Deveny’s face now—a grin which expressed craft, duplicity, and bestial desire. And as he rode at the head of his men he drew mental pictures that broadened his grin and brought into his eyes an abysmal gleam.