rifle from the saddle, filled its magazine, and
started toward Peden's place, which was on the next corner beyond the
hotel, on the same side of the square. When he had gone a few rods,
halting on his lame feet, alert as a hunter who expects the game to
break from cover, Stilwell and Fred got up from their apparently
disinterested lounging in front of the hotel and followed leisurely
after him.

Many of the little business houses around the square were closed. There
was a litter of glass on the plank sidewalk, where proprietors stood
gloomily looking at broken windows, or were setting about replacing them
with boards after the hurricane of deviltry that swept the town the
night past. Those who were abroad in the sunlight of early morning
making their purchases for the day, moved with trepidation, putting
their feet down quietly, hastening on their way.

An old man who walked ahead of Morgan appeared to be the only unshaken
and unconcerned person in this place of sleeping passions. He carried a
thick hickory stick with immense crook, which he pegged down in time to
his short steps, relying on it for support not at all, his lean old jaw
chopping his cud as nimbly as a sheep's. But when Morgan's shadow,
stretching far ahead, fell beside him, he started like a dozing horse,
whirled about with stick upraised, and stood so in attitude of menace
and defense until the stranger had passed on.

Conboy was alert in his door, watching to see what new nest of trouble
Morgan was about to stir with that threatening rifle. Others seemed to
feel the threat that stalked with this grim man. Life quickened in the
somnolent town as to the sound of a fire bell as he passed; people stood
watching after him; came to doors and windows to lean and look. A few
moments after his passing the street behind him became almost magically
alive, although it was a silent, expectant, fearful interest that
communicated itself in whispers and low breath.

Who was this stranger with the mark of conflict on his face, this
unusual weapon in the brawls and tragedies of Ascalon held ready in his
hands? What grievance had he? what authority? Was he the bringer of
peace in the name of the law that had been so long degraded and defied,
or only another gambler in the lives of men? They waited, whispering, in
silence as of a deserted city, to see and hear.

There was only one priest of alcohol attending the long altar where men
sacrificed their manhood in Peden's