business of the most urgent nature. It will only be the matter of a
moment. Now go. Gainor and the sheriff. Don't forget."

He received a scared glance, and then went out onto the veranda and sat
down to wait.

That was the right way, he felt. His father would have called the sheriff
to the door, in a similar situation, and after one brief challenge they
would have gone for their guns. But there was another way, and that was
the way of the Colbys. Their way was right. They lived like gentlemen,
and, above all, they fought always like gentlemen.

Presently the screen door opened, squeaked twice, and then closed with a
hum of the screen as it slammed. Steps approached him. He got up from the
chair and faced them, Gainor and the sheriff. The sheriff had
instinctively put on his hat, like a man who does not understand the open
air with an uncovered head. But Gainor was uncovered, and his white hair
glimmered.

He was a tall, courtly old fellow. His ceremonious address had won him
much political influence. Men said that Gainor was courteous to a dog,
not because he respected the dog, but because he wanted to practice for a
man. He had always the correct rejoinder, always did the right thing. He
had a thin, stern face and a hawk nose that gave him a cast of ferocity
in certain aspects.

It was to him that Terry addressed himself.

"Mr. Gainor," he said, "I'm sorry to have sent in a false message. But my
business is very urgent, and I have a very particular reason for not