gave it to them--that's all I know and that's
all I 've wanted to know."

"You never saw Larsen again?"

"I never saw any of them. That was the end."

"But Rodaine--?"

"He 's still here. You 'll hear from him--plenty soon. I could see
that, the minute Blindeye Bozeman and Taylor Bill began taking your
measure. You noticed they left the table before the meal was over? It
was to tell Rodaine."

"Then he'll fight me too?"

Mother Howard laughed,--and her voice was harsh.

"Rodaine's a rattlesnake. His son 's a rattlesnake. His wife 's
crazy--Old Crazy Laura. He drove her that way. She lives by herself,
in an old house on the Georgeville road. And she 'd kill for him, even
if he does beat her when she goes to his house and begs him to take her
back. That's the kind of a crowd it is. You can figure it out for
yourself. She goes around at night, gathering herbs in graveyards; she
thinks she 's a witch. The old man mutters to himself and hates any
one who doesn't do everything he asks,--and just about everybody does
it, simply through fear. And just to put a good finish on it all, the
young 'un moves in the best society in town and spends most of his time
trying to argue the former district judge's daughter into marrying him.
So there you are. That's all Mother Howard knows, Son."

She reached for the door and then, turning, patted Fairchild on the
shoulder.

"Boy," came quietly, "you 've got a broad back and a good head.
Rodaine beat your father--don't let him beat you. And always remember
one thing: Old Mother Howard 's played the game before, and she 'll
play it with you--against anybody. Good night. Go to bed--dark
streets are n't exactly the place for you."

Robert Fairchild obeyed the instructions, a victim of many a
conjecture, many an attempt at reasoning as he sought sleep that was
far away. Again and again there rose before him the vision of two men
in an open buggy, with a singing, apparently maudlin person between
them whom Ohadi believed to be an effeminate-voiced Swede; in reality,
only a woman. And why had they adopted the expedient? Why had not
Larsen been with them in reality? Fairchild avoided the obvious
conclusion and turned to other thoughts, to Rodaine with his squint
eyes, to Crazy Laura, gathering herbs at midnight in the shadowy,
stone-sentineled stretches of graveyards, while the son, perhaps,
danced at some function of Ohadi's society and made love in the rest
pe