fingers clenching and unclenching close to the heavy pistols he
wore--one at each hip. As he stood there, blinking his eyes at Ruth and
Lawler, Lawler spoke.

"Come in, Singleton," he said.

Ruth was still standing at the desk. Her arms were now outstretched
along it, her hands gripping its edge. She started at the sound of
Lawler's voice, amazed at the change that had come in it--wondering
how--when it had been so gentle a few minutes before--it could now have
in it a quality that made her shudder.

She saw the big man's eyes widen, noted that his shoulders sagged a
little when he heard Lawler's voice; observed that there seemed to come
an appreciable lessening of the tension of his taut muscles. She
marveled that the sound of one man's voice could have so calming an
effect upon another--that it could, at a stroke, seemingly, cool the
white-hot rage that had seized the man.

But there was no doubt that a change had come over the big man. His
shoulders sagged further. A suggestion of a mirthless smile began to tug
at the corners of his mouth; he unclenched the fingers of his hands.

"It's you, eh?" he said, gruffly. "My kid was sayin' someone in the
schoolhouse had walloped him, an' I was aimin' to find out who it was. I
reckon he's gone."

"I walloped him, Singleton."

Lawler's voice was gentle. In it was still a trace of that quality that