in bland complacency and looked in his face and told of the butchery.

Butchery it was, according to Terry's standards. For the sake of the
price on the head of the outlaw, young Minter had shoved his rifle across
a window sill, taken his aim, and with no risk to himself had shot down
the wild rider. His heart stood up in his throat with revulsion at the
thought of it. Murder, horrible, and cold-blooded, the more horrible
because it was legal.

Something had to be done. What was it?

And when he turned, what he saw was the gun cabinet with a shimmer of
light on the barrels. Then he knew. He selected his favorite Colt and
drew it out. It was loaded, and the action in perfect condition. Many and
many an hour he had practiced and blazed away hundreds of rounds of
ammunition with it. It responded to his touch like a muscular part of his
own body.

He shoved it under his coat, and walking down the stairs again the chill
of the steel worked through to his flesh. He went back to the kitchen and
called out Wu Chi. The latter came shuffling in his slippers, nodding,
grinning in anticipation of compliments.

"Wu," came the short demand, "can you keep your mouth shut and do what
you're told to do?"

"Wu try," said the Chinaman, grave as a yellow image instantly.

"Then go to the living room and tell Mr. Gainor and Sheriff Minter that
Mr. Harkness is waiting for them outside and wishes to see them on