"Come pretty near burning the whole town. It took _some_ work to confine _that_ fire--coal oil. Trevison did a clean job. Robbed the safe in the bank. Killed Braman--guzzled him. An awful complete job, from Trevison's viewpoint. The town's riled, and I wouldn't give a plugged cent for Trevison's chances. He's sloped. Desperate character--I always thought he'd rip things loose--give him time. It was him blowed up Corrigan's mine. I ain't seen Corrigan since last night, but I heard him and twenty or thirty deputies are on Trevison's trail. I hope they get him." He squinted at her. "There's trouble brewing in this town, Miss Benham. I wouldn't advise you to stay here any longer than is _absolutely_ necessary. There's two factions--looks like. It's about that land deal. Lefingwell and some more of them think they've been given a raw decision by the court and Corrigan. Excitement! Oh, Lord! This town is fierce. I ain't had any sleep in--Your answer? I can't tell. Mebbe right away. Mebbe in an hour." Rosalind went out upon the platform. The agent's words had revived a horror that she had almost forgotten--that she wanted to forget--the murder of Braman. She walked to the edge of the station platform, tortured by thoughts in which she could find no excuse for Trevison. Murderer and robber! A fugitive from justice--the very justice he had been demanding! Her thoughts made her weak and sick, and she stepped down from the platform and walked up the track, halting beside a shed and leaning against it. Across the street from her was the _Castle_ hotel. A man in boots, corduroy trousers, and a flannel shirt and dirty white apron, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, was washing the front windows and spitting streams of tobacco juice on the board walk. She shivered. A grocer next to the hotel was adjusting a swinging shelf affixed to the store-front, preparatory to piling his wares upon it; a lean-faced man standing in a doorway in the building adjoining the grocery was inspecting a six-shooter that he had removed from the holster at his side. Rosalind shivered again. Civilization and outlawry were strangely mingled here. She would not have been surprised to see the lean-faced man begin to shoot at the others. Filled with sudden trepidation she took a step away from the shed, intending to return to the station and wait for her answer. As she moved she heard a low moan. She started, paling, and then stood stock still, trembling with dread, but determined not to run. The sound came again, seeming to issue from the interior of the shed, and she retraced her step and leaned again against the wall of the building, listening. There was no mistaking the sound--someone was in trouble. But she wanted to be certain before calling for help and she listened again to hear an unmistakable pounding on the wall near her, and a voice, calling frenziedly: "Help, help--for God's sake!"