t a dangerous man--lucky for you," said Lambert. He drew
Taterleg away; they went on.

The allurements of Glendora were no more dazzling by night than by day.
There was not much business in the saloon, there being few visitors in
town, no roistering, no sounds of uncurbed gaiety. Formerly there had
been a dance-hall in connection with the saloon, but that branch of the
business had failed through lack of patronage long ago. The bar stood in
the front of the long, cheerless room, a patch of light over and around
it, the melancholy furniture of its prosperous days dim in the gloom
beyond.

Lambert and Taterleg had a few drinks to show their respect for the
institutions of the country, and went back to the hotel. Somebody had
taken Taterleg's place beside Alta on the green bench. It was a man who
spoke with rumbling voice like the sound of an empty wagon on a rocky
road. Lambert recognized the intonation at once.

"It looks to me like there's trouble ahead for you, Mr. Wilson," he
said.

"I'll take that feller by the handle on his face and bust him ag'in' a
tree like a gourd," Taterleg said, not in boasting manner, but in the
even and untroubled way of a man stating a fact.

"If there was any tree."

"I'll slam him ag'in' a rock; I'll bust him like a oyster."

"I think we'd better go to bed without a fight, if we can."

"I'm willin'; but I'm not goin' around by the back door to miss that
feller."

They came up the porch into the light that fell weakly from the office
down the steps. There was a movement of feet beside the green bench, an
exclamation, a swift advance on the part of the big-nosed man who had
afforded amusement for Taterleg in the barber's chair.

"You little bench-leggid fiste, if you've got gall enough to say one
word to a man's face, say it!" he challenged.

Alta came after him, quickly, with pacific intent. She was a tall girl,
not very well filled out, like an immature bean pod. Her heavy black
hair was cut in a waterfall of bangs which came down to her eyebrows,
the rest of it done up behind in loops like sausages, and fastened with
a large, red ribbon. She had put off her apron, and stood forth in
white, her sleeves much shorter than the arms which reached out of them,
rings on her fingers which looked as if they would leave their shadows
behind.

"Now, Mr. Jedlick, I don't want you to go raisin' no fuss around here
with the guests," she said.

"Jedlick!" repeated Taterleg, turning to