stairs and shouted up gossip while he shaved with
frantic haste and jumped into his best clothes. He answered her with
monosyllables and only half his mind.

"Finish up your work, Vic?"

"Nope."

"You sure worked yourself all thin. I hope somebody appreciates it." She
chuckled. "Ain't been sick, have you?"

"Say, who d'you think's in town? Sheriff Glass!"

This information sank in on him while he tugged at a boot at least a
size and half too small.

"Pete Glass!" he echoed. Then: "Who's he after?"

"I dunno. Vic, he don't look like such a bad one."

"He's plenty bad enough," Gregg assured her. "Ah-h-h!"

His foot ground into place, torturing his toes.

'"Well," considered Mrs. Pym, in a philosophic rumble, "I s'pose them
quiet gents is the dangerous ones, mostly; but looking at Glass you
wouldn't think he'd ever killed all those men. Know about the dance?"

"Nope."

"Down to Singer's place. Betty goin' with you?"

He jerked open the door and barked down at her: "Who else would she be
goin' with?"

"Don't start pullin' leather before the horse bucks," said Mrs. Pym. "I
don't know who else she'd be goin' with. You sure look fine in that red
shirt, Vic!"

He grinned, half mollified, half shame-faced, and ducked back into the
room, but a moment later he clumped stiffly down the stairs, frowning.
He wondered if he could dance in those boots.

"Feel kind of strange in these clothes. How do I look, Nelly?" And he
turned in review at the foot of the stairs.

"Slick as a whistle, I'll tell a man." She raised her voice to a shout
as he disappeared through the outer door. "Kiss her once for me, Vic."

In the center of the little pasture he stood shaking out the noose, and
the three horses raced in a sweeping gallop around the fence, looking
for a place of escape, with Grey Molly in the lead. Nothing up the Doane
River, or even down the Asper, for that matter, could head Molly when
she was full of running, and the eyes of Gregg gleamed as he watched
her. She was not a picture horse, for her color was rather a dirty white
than a dapple, and besides, there were some who accused her of "tucked
up belly." But she had the legs for speed in spite of the sloping croup,
and plenty of chest at the girth, and a small, bony head that rejoiced
the heart of a horseman. He swung the noose, and while the others darted
ahead, stupidly straight into the range of danger, Grey Molly whirled
like a doubling coyote and leaped aw