Marna Read Online Free PDF

makes you think the others would be
agreeable?"
    "We'll find out." His fist slammed down on the table,
making the tin mugs bounce. Startled, the men were
jerked to bleary-eyed attention. Grinning loosely, Caleb
announced, "Matt Barton is gonna join up with us."
    The news was greeted with slurred cries of "Hey,
that's good"; "Glad to have you with us, Barton"; "We
need an experienced hand along."
    When their voices had died down, Caleb added,
"He's gonna be the leader. He's gonna boss this bunch,
and make us some money."
    Again the added news was accepted with goodnatured willingness. Then, amid the cheering, Matt's
glance fell on a face not in tune with the others. The
big, paunched man sat silently, a dark, sullen gleam in
his narrowed eyes. Fastening his dissatisfied gaze on
Matt, he growled, "We never needed a leader before.
Why put a stranger over us now? Why not one of our
own men if you think it's so necessary?"
    As Caleb and the others shouted down his objections,
Matt studied the blotched, whiskey-bloated face. It
wasn't hard to reach his mind. The dirty, bewhiskered
man had intended to lead the men on the hunt.
    Caleb, more sober than the others and irritated at the
man's attitude, broke in sharply on the raucous chorus
of the others. "Blast it, Corey, he's the best man here.
He knows the wilderness inside out, and he knows the
best places to set traps." He paused to grin crookedly.
"Besides, he's the best fighter this side of England."
    Corey's small eyes became more narrow, almost disappearing in the fat. "Just when was all these things
proved?" he snarled disagreeably.
    Caleb jumped to his feet to more ably give proof to
his claim. Matt laid a silencing hand on his arm. His
eyes glittering like flakes of ice, he rose slowly and leaned across the table, his face very close to Corey's.
There was a long, tense moment as their eyes met.
Vaguely Matt sensed the stoppage of activity and conversation among the men as they turned to watch them.
Matt's voice jabbed into the silence. "Is this a showdown, Corey? Do we fight it out here and now?"

    Called on to back up his words, the fat man wavered,
his eyes shifting a jot from the menacing gleam boring
in on him. He had heard of Matt Barton's powerful fists
and his ability with the long, broad hunting knife. And
even though he outweighed the younger man by twenty
or thirty pounds, he wasn't ready to face him in a roughand-tumble.
    A low snicker from one of the men brought an angry
red to Corey's face. The bastards watched, ready to
judge and compare. If he were going to be boss of this
outfit, he'd have to take Barton on. Drawing on his
shrinking courage, he bounded to his feet. "By God,
yes," he blustered, his hand jabbing at the knife in his
belt.
    But even as his fingers closed over the hilt, a blurred
movement had nestled Matt's knife in the palm of his
hand. The blade shone ugly in the ray of light penetrating the dirty window behind him. In the deadly silence
the men stared at it wide-eyed.
    Corey's face blanched a dirty gray, and he was
sweating freely, the beads gleaming on his forehead. He
began backing away, his knife still in its sheath. All the
fight had gone out of him, and when he came up against
the wall, he blustered out, "Hell, if the men want you as
their leader, Barton, I ain't gonna argue."
    Matt's cold eyes studied the trembling bulk. Should
he force the fight, put his knife between the ribs so
handy to him? This incident wouldn't be the last one,
he knew. He would have to watch him all the time. This
type of man would bide his time and then put a knife in
his back.

    While the others watched intently, half hoping that
Matt would finish off the quarrelsome Corey, Caleb
approached Matt and slapped him on the back. "Glad
to have you with us, boss."
    Matt let his body relax slowly. He was alerted to the
kind of man he had to deal with, and that gave him an
edge. He returned the knife to his belt and