"Sounds good!" gloated Levins. "But it's too long around. I'm for somethin' more direct. Why not take the Judge with you to Manti, get the record, takin' a bunch of your boys with you--an' salivate that damned Corrigan an' his deputies!" Trevison laughed softly. "I don't want any violence if I can avoid it. My land won't run away while we're in Santa Fe. And the Judge doesn't want to meet Corrigan just now. I don't know that I blame him." "Where's the record?" Trevison told him, and Levins grumbled. "Corrigan'll have his deputies guardin' the courthouse, most likely. If you run ag'in 'em, they'll bore you, sure as hell!" "I'll take care of myself--I promise you that!" he laughed, and the Judge shuddered at the sound. He vanished into the darkness of the ledge, returning presently with Nigger, led him down the slope, called a low "So-long" to the two watchers on the ledge, and rode away into the haze of the plains. Trevison rode fast, filled with a grim elation. He pitied the Judge. An error--a momentary weakening of moral courage--had plunged the jurist into the clutches of Corrigan; he could hardly be held responsible for what had transpired--he was a puppet in the hands of an unscrupulous schemer, with a threat of exposure hanging over him. No wonder he feared Corrigan! Trevison's thoughts grew bitter as they dwelt upon the big man; the old longing to come into violent physical contact with the other seized him, raged within him, brought a harsh laugh to his lips as he rode. But a greater passion than he felt for the Judge or Corrigan tugged at him as he urged the big black over the plains toward the twinkling lights of Manti--a fierce exultation which centered around Rosalind Benham. She had duped him, betrayed him to his enemy, had played with him--but she had lost! Yet the thought of his coming victory over her was poignantly unsatisfying. He tried to picture her--did picture her--receiving the news of Corrigan's defeat, and somehow it left him with a feeling of regret. The vengeful delight that he should have felt was absent--he felt sorry for her. He charged himself with being a fool for yielding to so strange a sentiment, but it lingered persistently. It fed his rage against Corrigan, however, doubled it, for upon him lay the blame.