You tried to fool me, eh--tellin' me that you didn't see Davies an' Harris.

Well, damn your hide you ain't goin' to take me; I'll blow you to hell first!" Lawler's eyes were steady and unblinking as he watched Hamlin; they bored into Hamlin's with a compelling intensity, that brought a conviction of futility into Hamlin's soul.

They were cold eyes--cold as icebergs, Hamlin thought as he watched them; but they seemed to flame also, to flame with a fire that was cold as the ice in them.
The terrible power of them, and the promise of volcanic action back in them; the awful confidence that shone in them; the threat compelling Hamlin against his will, deadening his muscles, jumbling his thoughts--brought chaos into the man's brain, and he stood, his mouth agape with wonder over the thing that was happening to him, as Lawler walked steadily to him.

He made no resistance as Lawler deliberately wrenched the pistol from his hand and as deliberately walked to a side wall and placed it upon a shelf.
Hamlin stood, nerveless and pallid, for an instant, watching Lawler's movements--until Lawler turned and faced him again.

Then he staggered to a chair and dropped into it, lowering his head dejectedly, sitting with his hands folded, completely subjected.
Lawler would hang him, now.