Ascalon as
significant, those who came up behind Morgan clearing the way by edging
from the sidewalk into the square.

"The train'll be here in twelve minutes," Craddock announced, watch in
his palm.

"On time, is she?" Morgan said indifferently, starting for the door.

Again Seth Craddock lifted his hand. Those who had remained seated along
the gutter perch up to this moment now got to their feet with such haste
that chairs were upset. Craddock put his hand casually to his pistol, as
a man rests his hand on his hip.

"You're leavin' on it," he said.

"I guess you've got the wrong man," Morgan suggested, noting everything
with comprehensive eye, not a little concerned by the marshal's
threatening attitude. If this were going to turn out a joke, Morgan
wished it might begin very soon to show some of its risible features on
the surface, in order that he might know which way to jump to make the
best figure possible.

"No, I ain't got no wrong man!" Craddock returned, making mockery of
the words, uttering them jeeringly out of the corner of his mouth. He
blasted Morgan with the glare of his malevolent red eyes, redder now
than before his weapon had moistened the street of Ascalon with blood.
"You're the feller that's been shootin' off your mouth about murder in
the name of the law, and you bein' able to take his gun away from that
feller. Well, kid, I'm afraid it's goin' to be a little too rough for
you in this town. You're leavin'--you won't have time to git your
gripsack now, you can write for it!"

Morgan felt the blood flaming into his face with the hot swell of anger.
A moment he stood eye to eye with Craddock, fighting down the defiance
that rose for utterance to his lips. Then he started again toward the
hotel door.

Craddock whipped out his pistol with arm so swift that the eye
multiplied it like a spoke in a quick-spinning wheel. He stood holding
the weapon so, his wrist rather limber, the muzzle of the pistol
pointing in the general direction of Morgan's feet.

"Maybe you can take a gun away from me, little feller?" Craddock
challenged in high mockery, one nostril of his long nose twitching,
lifting his mustache on that side in a snarl.

"Don't point that gun at me, Craddock!" Morgan warned, his voice
unshaken and cool, although the surge of his heart made his seasoned
body vibrate to the finger tips.

"Scratch gravel for the depot!" Craddock commanded, lowering the muzzle
of his gun as if he intend