d her hair softly,
he departed in discontent, his own head bowed in reflection.

Meanwhile, out in the long street of Heart's Desire, little groups of
men gathered; but they held to the sides of the street, within the
shelter of angles and doorways. In the centre of the street there
paced slowly up and down, his hands behind his back and not fumbling
his weapon, a tall figure, with head bent slightly forward as in
thought, although with eyes keenly watching the door of the hotel.
Uncle Jim Brothers himself had brought out word of Barkley's
threatenings, and according to the only known creed there was but one
issue possible. That issue was now awaited decently and in order. The
street was free and fair. Let those concerned settle it for
themselves. Incidentally, Heart's Desire was willing that its question
should be settled at the same time. Here was its champion, waiting.

The watchers in the street grew restless, but nothing happened to
interrupt their waiting. Upon the side of the house nearest them,
lights shone from three windows. Presently one of these, that in the
room of Constance Ellsworth, was extinguished. A second window
blackened; Mr. Ellsworth had retired. The third light disappeared.
Porter Barkley, not yet exactly of the proper drunkenness to find
courage for his recently declared purpose, had concluded to go to sleep
instead.

In the street Heart's Desire waited patiently, gazing at the darkened
house, at the shaded door. Half an hour passed, an hour. Dan
Anderson, without speech to any one, walked slowly up the street and
across the _arroyo_. The light in his own casita flickered briefly
and then vanished.

"I told you all along he was game!" said Curly, emerging from the
corner of Whiteman's store and offering everybody a chew from his plug
of tobacco. "They ain't runnin' him any, I reckon. Huh?"

"Shucks!" remarked Uncle Jim, disgustedly. "From the way that feller
Barkley roared around, I shore thought he was a-goin' to tear up the
earth. He's so yellow that in the mornin' I'm goin' to tell him to
move on out of town. I've always kep' a respectable house before now,
and I never did harbor a man who wouldn't shoot _some_!"

"In the mornin'," added Doc Tomlinson, as the group broke up, "I'm
goin' to take Dan Anderson that saddle of mine that's layin' around in
my store. Why, what does a man want of a _saddle_ in a drug store? I
just want to _give_ the boy something."