Kinney had meant to delay, but Rand's question had provided him with an opportunity he sought, and he could see no reason why he should not get the thing over with as quickly as possible.
Therefore, as he sneered, his eyes glowing with a savage truculence, he backed away slightly, to give himself room to draw his guns.
His hands went to his hips as he edged slightly sidewise in the backward movement; and into his eyes came the merciless, sardonic glitter that told, more eloquently than words, of the bitter lust in his heart.
Rand had not failed to note the movement and the flame in the man's eyes. Therefore he divined that this man was Slim Kinney; and he knew that Kinney had decided to draw his guns upon the slightest pretext.
But nothing in Rand's manner betrayed his knowledge of what threatened. He was going to kill Kinney, he knew; in his veins still surged the violent yearning, the eagerness to take the life of the man who stood before him. And yet about him was no sign of the inward fire that was searing him; and as he looked at Kinney over the short space that separated them, he seemed unperturbed, unsuspicious, and serenely calm.
Watching him closely, however, Kinney had detected a quickening of Rand's eyes, and he knew that despite Rand's unsuspicious manner, he had not failed to suspect what impended.
But the gunfighter delayed. He saw that several men had halted and were watching from various points; he saw that Rand's hands were hanging loosely at his sides, as though he had no thought of his guns. And with witnesses present, Kinney did not care to make the first aggressive movement. So he stood, the fingers of his hands hooked in his cartridge belt, watching Rand, confident that when he had goaded Rand into reaching for his weapons, he would beat him by the infinitesimal fraction of a second which would be necessary for victory.
But a silence came between them, during which neither man's glance wavered. They stood, with the few feet of space between them, looking at each other, while around them all sound ceased, and the men who had halted to watch, knowing tragedy impended, stood rigid, like graven images — set figures in a grim pantomimic scene.
And as the silence continued, a slight perturbation began to afflict Kinney. Rand knew what impended; for Rand's eyes advertised that he knew — they were agleam with complete knowledge. Kinney could see the knowledge. To be sure, the knowledge was veiled by the flame of a wanton passion in Rand's eyes; but it was there. And if Rand knew, and could betray such icy composure in the face of death, why didn't he reach for his guns — why didn't he move his hands just the merest trifle, to give Kinney the chance he awaited?
But Rand's hands did not move. Nor did his eyes waver. Kinney caught a slight quiver of Rand's lips — they curved just a little, twitching with a sneering contempt.
Ordinarily, such an expression upon an enemy's face would have stung Kinney to action. But in this instance there seemed to be a great drag upon Kinney's desires, a queer cooling of the passion into which he had worked himself. He became aware of a slight, disturbing chill at the pit of his stomach; his eyes wavered just a little as Rand's gaze continued to bore into them; and he could feel the chill stealing from his middle, traveling upward until it began to crawl up his neck and into his face.
Still Rand made no move. Not a muscle of his face, hands, or the cords of his neck — visible above and below the brown scarf he wore — were agitated, except from his slow, regular breathing.
A miracle was here presented to Kinney — the spectacle of a man facing death — knowing it, and betraying not the slightest sign of emotion!
Never before had so odd a thing .happened to Kinney! The men he had killed — who had suspected his intentions— had invariably betrayed emotion. Sometimes it had taken the form of complete paralysis; some of his victims had shrunk from him, in the grip of a hopelessness that had made them craven and helpless; still others, sensing the inevitable, had desperately tried to beat him to the draw, their faces demoniac with impotent rage and hate.
But this man betrayed absolutely no sign of emotion. More — Kinney could see that Rand was deliberately delaying the crisis; that he, too, was confident — supremely confident — of his ability in getting his guns into action swiftly. For there was in Rand's eyes and in his manner an air of certainty, of complete conviction, that he would emerge victorious from the encounter that impended.
And suddenly, as Kinney stood silent, his thumbs hooked in his cartridge belt, Rand spoke:
"You're Slim Kinney—eh?" he said coldly. His voice expressed the contempt that had twitched his lips. "An' you've got a warrant for me—for horse-stealin'. An' you're yearnin' to work your guns on me. Pull 'em — you sneak!"
Kinney did not obey; he stood, his face pallid, his eyes vacuous, staring at Rand as though fascinated by something he saw in the man's manner. Over him had stolen the conviction that it would be impossible for his hands to travel the little distance that separated them from his guns before Rand's weapons would be barking death at him. For though his hands were at the cartridge belt, it seemed to him that many feet, instead of inches, intervened between his hands and the guns.
And while he stood, puzzled over the phenomenon, he saw one of Rand's hands move swiftly, and a piece of paper fluttered in the air and then fell almost at his feet. And then Rand's voice, coming with a snapping command, startled him, so that he took an involuntary step backward, dropping his hands to his sides.
"Pick that up an' read it!" said Rand.
Obediently, though amazed that he should do so, Kinney stooped and took up the paper. It was the bill of sale given Rand that morning by Amos Seddon.
After Kinney finished reading, he silently handed the paper to Rand; and the latter took it, stuffed it into a pocket and sneered malignantly at the gunfighter.
"You was lookin' for me," he said to Kinney as he took a step toward the man. "You figured to perforate me, pretendin' I'd resist arrest. I've called the law bluff. If you've got any man in you, you'll flash your guns — now! I'm yearnin' to blow you apart!"
Kinney did not "flash" his guns. Instead, he stood, his hands at his sides, a sullen, bitter pout on his lips, his eyes gleaming with furious, impotent rage.
For an instant Rand stood, watching the gunfighter; then, with an exclamation of disgust, he wheeled, turning his left side toward Kinney.
As he did so his right hand slipped to the butt of the gun at his right hip — for he had a sudden divination that Kinney would shoot as he turned.
He had correctly judged the gunfighter's character.
For at the instant he wheeled, Kinney's right hand went to his holster. Rand's movement had broken the spell that had held Kinney, and he pulled the trigger viciously.
The weapon went off as its muzzle cleared the holster — the bullet throwing up sand a little to Rand's left. But, blended with the report of Kinney's weapon came Rand's reply—so that the two guns seemed to roar simultaneously.
Kinney's weapon loosened in his grasp; the hand holding it was knocked backward, as though it had been jerked by some unseen force—for Rand's bullet had struck the cylinder of the gun in Kinney's hand — precisely as Rand had intended it should.
The shock threw Kinney off balance, and before he could recover both of Rand's guns were out, and Rand'— his eyes blazing—stood, leaning forward, watching.
Kinney stood, the hand which had held the pistol extended, the fingers spread wide, as they had spread when the pistol had been knocked from his hand; his legs were asprawl, as though to brace himself against further shock; his eyes were aglitter with a venomous light — for now that action had come he had lost his fear, and he was intent on the death of the man who had beaten him in the first clash. Kinney's left hand, the fingers crooked, clawlike, was hovering over the butt of the gun at his left hip, the elbow curved, ready to descend.
Kinney's