"What sort of a joke is this, Marsh?" he demanded in a whisper.

"Joke?" repeated the lawyer in a thick husky voice, as he took an
uncertain step toward the gambler.

"Your coming here at this hour; if it isn't a joke, what is it?"

Gilmore saw that his face was flushed with drink while his eyes shone
with a light he had never seen in them before. He must have been abroad
in the storm for some time, for the snow had lodged in the rim of his
hat and his shoulders were still white with it; now and again a paroxysm
of shivering seized him.

"Whisky chill," thought the gambler. "Come in, Marsh!" he said, but
Langham seemed to draw back instinctively.

"No, I guess not, Andy!" and a sickly pallor overspread his face.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded Gilmore.

"I want to see you," said the other. "I can't go home yet." He swayed
heavily. "I need to talk to you on a matter of business. Come on
out--come on off of here;" and he led the way down the porch steps.
"Whom have you in there with you?" he questioned when he had drawn
Gilmore a little way along the path.

"The colonel and Watt Harbison."

"No one else?"