"By God," Buckley articulated. His face changed from dark to pale, his mouth opened, his eyes were staring. He fumbled desperately in his pocket. Gordon's hand closed smoothly, instantly, about the handle of his revolver. But, before he could level it, an arm shot out from behind him, and a stone the size of two fists sped like a bullet, striking Buckley Simmons where his hair and forehead joined. Gordon, in a species of shocked curiosity and surprise, clearly saw the stone hit the other. There was a sound like that made by a heel breaking a scum of ice on a frozen road. Buckley said, "Ah," half turned, and dropped like a piece of carpet. The belligerent attitude instantly evaporated from the group behind the stricken man. "Gracious," some one muttered foolishly. They all joined in a stooping circle about the prostrate figure. It was seen immediately that the skull was broken--a white splinter of bone stood up from a matted surface of blood and hair and dirt. Buckley's eyelids winked continuously and with great rapidity. A mingled concern and deep relief swept through Gordon Makimmon. He knew that, had the stone not been thrown, he would have killed Buckley Simmons. He wondered if Tol'able had done him that act of loyalty. It had, probably, fatally wounded its object. He turned with a swift, silent look of inquiry to Tol'able. The other, unmoved, dexterously shifted a mouthful of tobacco. "Whoever did that," he observed, "could sure throw a rock." A crowd gathered swiftly, cautious and murmuring. Simmons was lifted on a horse blanket to the flooring by the counter. There was an outcry for a doctor, but none was present, and it was agreed that the wounded man must be hurried into Greenstream. "He won't get there alive," it was freely predicted; "the top of his head is crumbled right off." X Gordon found Meta Beggs on the outskirt of the throng; she was pale but otherwise unshaken. "I was sure you were going to shoot Buckley," she told him. "So was I," he returned grimly. "Will he die?" "It looks bad--his head's cracked. You didn't see anybody throw that stone!" His voice had more the accent of a command than an inquiry. "I really didn't; the men were standing so closely ... nobody saw." "That's good. You'll drive home with me, for certain." "I'm glad you didn't kill him," she confided to Gordon in the buggy. She was sitting very close to him. "It would have--upset things." "I don't believe you were a scrap frightened," he asserted admiringly. "I wasn't. I thought how foolish you would be to spoil everything for yourself." "I would have gone into the mountains," he explained; "a hundred men would have kept the law off me. I was a year and a half there, when--when I was younger," he ended lamely.