ome to me. Ther's jest one thing stuck in
my head so I can't lose it. It was his last words to me about it. He
says, says he, see here, Mr. McFarlane, I need one favor out o' you. I
want to go with you on this racket, an' if ther's any mercy in the God
of Heaven, he'll let me get my dose when the shootin' starts.
Effie--that's how he called his wife--wants them dollars, an' you'll
see she gets 'em. But for me I just couldn't ever live around a woman
who'd handled that blood money! He didn't use them words. They're
mine. But it's 'bout how he put it. Wal, when the play was over he'd
had his wish. He was dropped plumb in his tracks. Then I handed his
widder the dollars. She ain't around these parts now so it don't
matter handin' you the story of it. Maybe she's married agin. She was
some picture woman. But anyway I'd say right here, the woman who could
take the price of men's lives would be low enough to bluff a boy like
Peters here out of his stock of dollars on a play like these rights.
An' that's why I reckon this thing's been done on the crook."

He reached round for his glass and took a deep drink in the silence
that followed his story. Then, as neither the man who was to
arbitrate, nor Peters, attempted to break it, he went on:

"Guess a reward's jest a reward, an' you can't kick at the feller who
comes along an' grabs a holt on it. But when a woman, young, a
good-looker, an' eddicated, an' refined, gits grabbin', why, it makes
you see sulphur an' brimstone, an' horns an' hoofs when your thoughts
are full o' buzzin' white wings an' harps, an' halos an' things. Git
me? I guess stealin' dollars out o' a citizen's pocket-book wouldn't
be a circumstance to a female of that nature. Say, I ain't got rid o'
the stink of it yet, though it happened four years ago."

The man's contempt and loathing were intense. He had offered the
reward, paid it, he had led the Vigilantes in the hanging. But these
things were simply part of the justice of man as he saw it, and rightly
administered.

The silent moments slipped by. Jeffrey Masters was sitting erect in
his chair. A marble coldness seemed to have settled itself upon his
keen face. Peters was waiting for that decision he desired. Dug
McFarlane, with more understanding, realized that something was wrong.
He, too, remained silent, however.

At last Jeff stirred. His gaze shifted. It turned half vaguely upon
the little man Peters. Then it seemed to