m, to the hitching rack in front of
the hotel, under the plank canopy of which Stilwell and his son waited
his coming.

Stilwell had made it plain to Morgan at the beginning, to save his
feelings and his pride, that they were not attending him on the
expedition against his enemies with any intention of helping him. Just
to be there in case of outside interference, and to enjoy the spectacle
of justice being done by a strong hand. Stilwell's account, personally,
was not against these men, he said, although they had driven their herd
upon his range and spread infection among his cattle. That would be
taken up with Sol Drumm when he came back from Kansas City with the
money from his cattle sale.

Morgan went to the hardware store, two doors from the hotel, from which
he presently emerged with a coil of new rope, a row of new cartridges in
his belt, and pockets heavy with a reserve supply. Tom Conboy was
standing in his door, looking up and down the street in the manner of a
man who felt his position insecure. Morgan saw that he was haggard and
worn as from long vigils and anxieties, although he had about him still
an air of assurance and self-sufficiency. Morgan passed him in the door
and entered the office unrecognized, although Conboy searched him with a
disfavoring and suspicious eye.

In the office there was evidence of conflict and turmoil. The showcase
was broken, the large iron safe lay overturned on the floor. The blue
door leading into the dining-room had been burst from its hinges, its
panels cracked, and now stood in the office leaning against the
partition like a champion against the ropes. Conboy turned from his
watch at the street door with reluctance, to see what the visitor
desired, and at the same moment Dora appeared in the doorless frame
within.

"Mr. Morgan!" she cried, incredulity, surprise, pleasure, mingled in her
voice.

She paused a moment, eyes round, hands lifted, her pretty mouth agape,
but came on again almost at once, eagerness brushing all other emotions
out of her face. "Wherever in the world have you been? What in the name
of goodness is the matter with your face?" She turned Morgan a little to
let the light fall on his wound.

Grim as Morgan's business was that morning, bitter as his savage heart,
he had a nook in his soul for sympathetic Dora, and a smile that came so
hard and vanished so quickly that it seemed it must have hurt him in the
giving more than the breaking of a bone.