Then he stepped within, and closed the door. [Illustration: His Colt poised for instant action, he lifted the wooden latch.] At the slight sound the other leaped to his feet, overturning the stool, and whirled about swiftly, his right hand dropping to his belt. "That will do, friend!" Hamlin's voice rang stern. "Stand as you are--your gun is lying on the bench yonder. Rather careless of you in this country. No, I would n't risk it if I was you; this is a hair trigger." The fellow stared helpless into the Sergeant's gray eyes. "Who--who the hell are you?" he managed to articulate hoarsely, "a--a soldier?" Hamlin nodded, willing enough to let the other talk. "You 're--you 're not one o' Le Fevre's outfit?" "Whose?" "Gene Le Fevre--the damn skunk; you know him?" Startled as he was, the Sergeant held himself firm, and laughed. "I reckon there is n't any one by that name a friend o' mine," he said coolly. "So you 're free to relieve your feelings as far as I 'm concerned. Were you expecting that gent along this trail?" "Yes, I was, an' 'twa'n't no pleasant little reception I 'lowed to give him neither. Say! Would n't yer just as soon lower thet shootin' iron? We ain't got no call to quarrel so fur as I kin see." "Maybe not, stranger," and Hamlin leaned back against the table, lowering his weapon slightly, as he glanced watchfully about the room, "but I 'll keep the gun handy just the same until we understand each other. Anybody else in this neighborhood?" "Not unless it's Le Fevre, an' his outfit." "Then I reckon you did the shooting, out there a bit ago?" The man shuffled uneasily, but the Sergeant's right hand came to a level. "Did you?" "I s'pose thar ain't no use o' denyin' it," reluctantly, eyeing the gun in the corner, "but I did n't mean to shoot up no outfit but Le Fevre's. So help me, I did n't! The danged snow was so thick I could n't see nohow, and I never s'posed any one was on the trail 'cept him. Thar ain't been no white man 'long yere in three months. Didn't hit none of yer, did I?" "Yes, you did," returned Hamlin slowly, striving to hold himself in check. "You killed one of the best fellows that ever rode these plains, you sneaking coward, you. Shot him dead, with his back to you. Now, see here, it's a throw of the dice with me whether I fill you full of lead, or let you go. I came in here intending to kill you, if you were the cur who shot us up. But I 'm willing to listen to what you have got to say. I 'm some on the fight, but plain murder don't just appeal to me. How is it? Are you ready to talk? Spit it out, man!" "I 'll tell yer jest how it was." "Do it my way then; answer straight what I ask you. Who are you? What are you doing here?" "Kin I sit down?" "Yes; make it short now; all I want is facts." The man choked a bit, turned and twisted on the stool, but was helpless to escape.