"Showdown!" he muttered under his breath, "I knew it had to come!" He
was conscious of a feeling of vast relief. Aloud he responded, blithely
and rudely, "Oh! to hell with _you_!"

Yorke checked his horse with a suddenness that brought the animal back
onto its haunches. Sitting square and motionless in the saddle for a
moment he stared at George with an expression almost of shocked
amazement; then his face became convulsed with ruthless passion.

The junior constable had pulled up also, and now wheeling "half-left" and
lolling lazily in his saddle with shortened leg stared back at his enemy
with an expression there was no mistaking. His debonair young face had
altered in an incredible fashion. Although his lips were pursed up with
their whistling nonchalance his eyes had contracted beneath scowling
brows into mere pin-points of steel and ice. He looked about as docile
as a young lobo wolf--cornered.

"Ah!" murmured Yorke, noting the transformation; and he seemed to
consider. He had seen that look on men's faces before. Insensibly,
passion had vanished from his face; the bully had disappeared; and in his
place there sat in saddle a cool, contemptuous gentleman.

"Are you talking back to me?" he said. He did not look astounded
now--seemed rather to assume it.

Redmond's scowling brows lifted a fraction. "Talking back?" he echoed,
"sure! Who the devil do you think you're trying to come 'the Tin Man'
over?"

Reluctantly Yorke discounted his first impressions. Here was no