talk
things over with Gratton----"

Gloria put out her hand impulsively, touching King's arm.

"_You_ stay. Please. Until--he goes."

King inclined his head gravely, not realizing that his body stiffened
under her light touch.

"What about _me_?" demanded the "judge" sharply. "Am I needed or ain't
I?"

"I'd say not this evening," King's dry voice answered him. "Good-night
to you."

"That's a fine way to treat a man," cried Summerling truculently. "Here
I ride all this way in the dark, and without stoppin' for so much as
supper; here I ain't had a bite to eat since dinner-time, and it's
good-night and get out! And that hundred dollars I was to get so fast,
how about that? Think I'm the man to let folks trample on me and----"

"Maybe Jim will give you a hand-out at his cabin," King told him. "As
for your money, get it out of Gratton if he promised it to you--or," he
added with a flash of heat, "take it out of his hide, for all I care."

"Wait for me outside, Summerling," muttered Gratton. "_I_ haven't said
you won't be needed, have I?"

"Just the same, I wouldn't mind takin' what's comin' to me now----"

"Man alive!" shouted Gratton, whirling on him. "Haven't I got enough on
my hands without you yelping at me?"

"Just the same----"

"Jim," called King above the incoherent mouthings, "slip your arm
through Summerling's and lead him off with you. Feed him if you feel
like it, and let him stick around for a word with Gratton if he wants.
And you, Steve Jarrold, Ben Gaynor isn't here, but just the same you can
take it from me that neither you nor any other of Swen Brodie's hangdogs
is wanted in Ben Gaynor's house. Out you go."

Jarrold's eyes slanted off to Gratton. Then, seeing himself ignored and
forgotten, he shrugged his shoulders, pulled on his hat, and went out.
Behind him, arm in arm, one smiling widely and the other pulling back
and still sputtering, went Jim and the "judge."

To all this Gloria had given scant attention. The spell no longer lay
over her; she was keenly awake to the demands of the present; she was
thinking, thinking, thinking! It seemed that she had walked on
quicksands; that a hand had drawn her up and placed her where she was
now, with solid ground underfoot; but that still all about her were
quicksands. What temporary sense of security was hers was due to Mark
King, to his presence. As long as he stood there, where she could put
out a hand and touch him, she could rest calmly, as