He finished his supper without lighting a lamp. Having eaten, he climbed the stairs and made ready for the expected visitor. He saw to it that his gun was in order; he lighted a lamp; he raised the curtains—it was as if he were a stage manager preparing for the evening’s show. When his old brain refused to suggest any additional bit of stagecraft, Aaron took his seat. He had arranged the lamp so that he sat in shadow. Four or five times he drew a bead upon an imaginary face in the window—it made him smile. He was ready—he wouldn’t miss tonight. It was too early for ghosts, so he half dozed in his chair. A clock struck eight, but Aaron heard it not, nor did he catch the soft _pad-pad_ of naked feet ascending the stairs. Gallup was in a strange world confronting a horde of Johnny Dices. He shot them down, one after another, until his trigger finger grew tired. Minutes slipped by as the old man sat lost in reverie, a smile of satisfaction upon his face. The door had opened noiselessly, a bony hand forcing it inward. The visitor squinted his eyes at Gallup and took a step into the room, closing the door behind him as he did so. He stood still, waiting for the other to catch sight of him. Aaron became aware of the man’s presence by degrees. When he saw him and recognition followed, he uttered no word of surprise or fear, but just stared and stared at him. And eyes as cold as his own stared back at him. This specter out of the past was no ghost, and yet it well might have been, for if, in appearance, there was ever a living dead man it was this gaunt visitor. Gallup’s thoughts were no longer on the window. Johnny Dice no longer obsessed him. He knew there could be no connection between the boy and this shriveled shadow of a man confronting him. And yet there was, and not so remote at that. But Johnny knew nothing of the man’s coming. The boy was playing a lone hand this night. He had already circled Gallup’s house several times. That a light should be burning in that same room again tonight looked suspicious to Johnny. It said all too plainly that he was expected. Well, it is a poor general who has only one plan of attack. Johnny flattered himself that he was equal to this occasion. The eastern freight had not pulled in yet. Two carloads of ore from the Black Prince mine stood upon the side track. They would have to be picked up and cut into the train. Very likely the freight would bring a car of merchandise from San Francisco for the Rock. That would take more time. Cars would be switched back and forth past the house. One should be able to see into that lighted upper story room from the top of one of those cars. Gallup had not replaced the shattered glass as yet. With fair skill a man should be able to flip a piece of cardboard into the room. Johnny had such a thing to toss at Gallup’s feet—the picture of Molly which he had found in Traynor’s wallet.