this circumstance and Von Tromp's vehemence in the premises that brought grave comment from the gray heads about the table, from men whose code had been ever open fighting and no shooting through the crack of the door.
"Somebody up high has turned bad—like a last year's turkey egg," was the opinion of one. "I just did n't dast to let myself believe all this time our folks was paying money for killings."
"An' look where it puts us here on the range," growled another. "We either got to turn against the higher-ups down to Cheyenne or make a play to turn loose this thing in jail, which most men shoot under a barn."
So the council of desperation progressed. Men who felt themselves betrayed by a different breed of men who knew not the clean code, the strong code of the Big Country, saw themselves on the covering line of the Great Retreat—and fired on from behind.
Into the room burst old Dad Strayhorn. He threw wide his hands.
"Hell 's bust!" he said.
Original was first downstairs and on the sidewalk.
Down the street from the direction of the
