All were gazing, with a sort of dread fascination, at the holster at Sanderson's right hip, and at the butt of the gun in it, projecting far, the hammer in plain sight.
The situation could not last.

Sanderson did not expect it to last.
Seemingly calm and unconcerned, he was in reality passionately alert and watchful.
For he had no hope of escaping from this predicament.

He had made a mistake in sending his men away with Williams, and he knew the chances against him were too great.

He had known that all along--even when talking and comforting Mary Bransford.
He knew that Dale had come to kill him; that Graney had not issued any warrant for him, for Graney knew that Maison had acted of his own volition--or at least had given the judge that impression.
But whether the warrant was a true one or not, Sanderson had decided that he would not let himself be taken.

He had determined that at the first movement made by any man in the group he would kill Dale and take his chance with the others.
Dale knew it--he saw the cold resolution in Sanderson's eyes.