, commonplace. He saw Tol'able sitting on a back
bench; with a mutual gesture the two men rose and left the tent.

"I had to bring m'wife," Tol'able explained; "did you see her sitting on
the platform? She's one of the main grievers. I got some good licker in
the wagon--better have a comforter."

They walked down to a dusty, two-seated surrey, where, from under a horse
blanket, Tol'able produced a small jug. He wiped the mouth on his sleeve
and passed it to Gordon; then held the gurgling vessel to his open throat.
"There was some hell raised last night," he proceeded; "a man from up back
had his head busted with a stone, and a drunken looney shot through the
women's tent: an old girl hollered out they had Goddy right in there among
'em."

"They were shooting a while back," Gordon observed indifferently. "Have
you seen Buck Simmons here?"

"No, I hain't. He wouldn't be here noways."

Gordon preserved a discreet silence in regard to his source of assurance
of Buckley's presence at the camp meeting.

"Have another drink, Gord."

The services were temporarily suspended, and the throng emptied from the
tent. A renewed sanity clothed them--girls drew into squares of giggling
defense against the verbal sallies of robustly-witted young men. Women
collected their offspring, gathering in circles about opened boxes of
lunch: a multitude of papers and box lids littered the ground. A hot,
steaming odor, analogous to coffee, rose from the crowded counter. A
prodigious amount of raw whiskey was consumed among the vehicles by the
stream and mud-coated willows.

Gordon slowly made his way through the throng, in search of Meta Beggs;
perhaps, after all, she had decided not to come; he might easily miss her
in that mob. It was not clear in his mind what he would do if he saw her.
She would be with Buckley Simmons, and there was a well recognized course
of propriety for such occasions: he would be expected merely to greet in
passing a girl accompanying another man. Any other proceeding would be met
with instant resentment. And Buckley Simmons, Gordon knew, must still
nurse a secret antagonism toward him. However, he had disposed of Buckley
in the past ... if necessary he could do so again.

At the entrance to the service tent the organist, his countenance still
livid in the sunlight, blew a throaty summons on a cornet, and the crowd
slowly trailed back within. In the thinning groups Gordon saw the
school-teacher, clad in a bright