e lit again in this man's town," Conboy went on, "and
I'm one that's glad to see 'em go. Some of these fellers around town was
sayin' tonight that Ascalon will be dead in the shell inside of three
weeks, but I can't see it that way. Settlers'll begin to come now, that
hall of Peden's'll make a good implement store, plenty of room for
thrashin' machines and harvesters. I may have to put up my rates a
little to make up for loss in business till things brighten up, but I'd
have to do it in time, anyhow."

"Yes," said Morgan, as listlessly as before.

"They say you made a stand with that gun of yours tonight that beat
anything a man ever saw--three of 'em down quicker than you could strike
a match! I heard one feller say--man! look at that badge of yours!"

Conboy got up, gaping in amazement. Morgan had stepped into the light
that fell through the open door, passing on his way to bed. The metal
shield that proclaimed his office was cupped as if it had been held
edgewise on an anvil and struck with a hammer. Morgan hastily detached
the badge and put it in his pocket, plainly displeased by the discovery
Conboy had made.

"Bullet hit it, square in the center!" Conboy said. "It was square over
your heart!"

"Keep it under your hat!" Morgan warned, speaking crossly, glowering
darkly on Conboy as he passed.

"No niggers in Ireland," said Conboy, knowingly; "no-o-o niggers in
Ireland!"

Morgan regretted his oversight in leaving the badge in place. He had
intended to remove it, long before. As he went up the complaining stairs
he pressed his hand to the sore spot over his heart where the bullet
almost had driven the badge into his flesh. Pretty sore, but not as sore
as it was deeper within his breast from another wound, not as sore as
that other hurt would be tomorrow, and the heavy years to come.

CHAPTER XXI

AS ONE THAT IS DEAD

"I feel like I share his guilt," said Rhetta, voice sad as if she had
suffered an irreparable loss.

"He's not guilty," said Violet, stoutly, standing in his defense.

Rhetta had fled from Ascalon that morning, following the terrible night
of Morgan's sanguinary baptism. Racked by an agony of mingled remorse
for her part in this tragedy and the loss of some valued thing which she
would not bring her heart to acknowledge, only moan over and weep, and
bend her head to her pillow through that fevered night, she had taken
horse at sunrise and ridden to Stilwell's ranch, for the comfort