ut again and the sound of its hinges caused Vorse, who was
just starting away from the bar, to turn about. In his hand was a tray
holding a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of mineral water and glasses,
which apparently he had just lifted up.

For a space of ten seconds or so he remained unmoving, the tray in his
hand and his eyes regarding the visitors fixedly. Behind him in the
rear of the saloon a second man had sprung up from the table where he
sat, but after that first startled action he, too, had not stirred.
The man was Sorenson.

With Madden at his side and with a grim smile on his lips Weir walked
slowly towards Vorse. In his tread there was something of the quality
of a tiger's, the light, deliberate, poised advance, the easy and
dangerous movement of body, the effortless glide of a powerful animal
ready to spring and strike. His hands swung idly at his sides, but
that did not mean they would not be swift once they responded to the
call of the brain that controlled them.

"You gentlemen were just about to celebrate my downfall, I perceive,
by pouring a libation," Weir said. "Don't let me interrupt. Only I
must request you to conduct the proceedings there where you're
standing, Vorse, instead of at the rear of the room: Madden and I wish
a good view of the ceremony. If Mr. Sorenson will be so agreeable as
to step forward, you may go ahead."

Sorenson did not join Vorse, but instead he spoke.

"Why haven't you locked up your prisoner, Madden?" he demanded
harshly. "And you're letting him keep his gun. Don't you know enough
to disarm a murderer and throw him into jail when you arrest him?"

"I haven't arrested him yet," was the sheriff's answer.

"Well, do it then. You have the warrant for the scoundrel. Perhaps you
haven't heard he almost killed my boy Ed last night--and you're
allowing him to walk around with you as if he were a bosom friend. Do
your duty, or we'll get a sheriff who will."

"That's why I'm here, to do my duty."

"You didn't have to bring this man here to do it."

"I decided to bring him, however."

From Vorse had come not a word. Only his gleaming evil eyes continued
to rest on the two men without wink or change. For him explanations
were unnecessary; he had divined instantly that somewhere, somehow the
plotters' plans had gone awry.

"Did you know that Gordon is dead?" Weir asked, all at once.

Vorse lowered the tray to the bar and ran the tip of his tongue over
his lips.

"No," s