ain't no fit guy to have no hand in any
law makin'."

Ten Spot's voice fell coldly and metallically in the silence of the
room. Slowly recovering from the shock Dunlavey attempted a sneer, which
gradually faded into a mirthless smile as Ten Spot continued:

"An' you ain't goin' to have a hand in any more law-makin' in this man's
town. Me an' my friends is goin' to see to that, an' my boss, Mr.
Hollis. I reckon that'll be about all. You don't need to hang around
here while we do the rest of the votin'. Watkins an' Greasy c'n stay to
see that everything goes on regular." He grinned wickedly as Dunlavey
stiffened. "I reckon you know me, Bill. I ain't palaverin' none. You an'
Ten Spot is quits!"

He stepped back a little, away from the table, his teeth showing in a
mocking grin. Then he looked down at the hat which he still held in his
hand--Dunlavey's hat. He laughed. "Why, I'm cert'nly impolite!" he said
insinuatingly. "Here you've been wantin' to go an' I've been keepin'
your hat!" He dumped the ballots upon the table and passed the hat to
Dunlavey. Without a word Dunlavey took it, jerking it savagely, placed
it on his head, and strode to the door, stepping down into the street.

There was a short silence. Then Ten Spot turned and looked at Hollis,
his face wreathed in a broad grin.

"I reckon you-all think you know somethin' about handlin' the law," he
said, "but your little Ten Spot ain't exactly the measliest card in the
deck! We'll do our votin' now."

A quarter of an hour later, after Ten Spot and his friends had cast
their ballots and Watkins had been forced to make out a certificate of
nomination,--which reposed safely in Ben Allen's inside pocket--the
kerosene lights were extinguished and the men filed out. Hollis and Ten
Spot were the last to leave. As they stood for a moment on the threshold
of the doorway Hollis seized Ten Spot's hand and gripped it heartily.

"I want to thank you, my friend," he said earnestly.

Ten Spot jerked his hand away. "Aw, hell!" he said as they sought the
darkness of the street, "I ain't mushin' none. But," he added, as a
concession to his feelings, "I reckon to know a white man when I see
one!"

CHAPTER XXVI

AUTUMN AND THE GODS

It was Sunday afternoon and a hazy, golden, late September sun was
swimming lazily in the blue arc of sky, flooding the lower gallery of
the Circle Bar ranchhouse, but not reaching a secluded nook in which sat
Hollis and Nellie Hazelt