Jane, somewhat vexed, had picked up the lamp and entered the house. The constantly repeated "ma’am" and the stammering explanations, which she put but little stock in, made her suddenly contrast this big, overgrown boy with a man she knew, and to Tommy’s vast discredit. She had hit it: one was no more than an overgrown boy, coarse, unlearned, clumsy, embarrassed; the other, a grown man, cool, educated, masterful, unabashed. One was in his own way; the other, unobtrusive in manner but persistently haunting in his personality. She might not be able for good reasons to see Tex Jones in a room filled with people, but she could not fail to sense his presence. But the marshal was no longer to be thought of; he had taken a human life and was forever beyond the pale of her interest and affections. He had blood on his hands. Suddenly she started and cast an apprehensive glance toward the window which faced the town. A low, chaotic roaring, indistinct in its blurred entirety, but fear impelling because of its timbre, came from the main street. A shot or two sounded flatly and the roaring rose and fell in queer, spasmodic bursts. Before she could move, a knock sounded on the door and, fearing bad news about her brother, she took a tight grip on herself and walked swiftly toward the summons, flinging the door wide open. Henry Williams, a smirk on his face, bowed and entered, not waiting for an invitation. He forgot to remove his hat in his eagerness to place his packages on the table where she plainly could see them. Selecting the easiest chair, he seated himself on the edge of it, and tossed his sombrero against the wall. "Nice evenin’, ma’am," he said, flushing a little. "I was hopin’ for more rain but don’t reckon we’ll git none for a spell. What we had has helped wonderful. You an’ Jerry feelin’ well?" "It doesn’t feel like rain, Mr. Williams," she replied, torn between fear and mirth at the presence of this unwelcome visitor. "Both my brother and myself are as well as we can expect to be. If you’ll go to the station you’ll find him there--this is report night and he may not be home until quite late." "I ain’t waitin’ for Jerry," explained Henry, leering. "It’s just as well if he is a little late. My call is shore personal, ma’am; personal between me an’ you." She was staring at him through eyes which were beginning to sparkle with vexation. She was now beginning to accept her first, intuitive warning. "I am not aware that there is anything of a personal nature which concerns us both," she rejoined. "I believe you must be mistaken, Mr. Williams. If you will close the door behind you on your way out I will be duly grateful. Jerry is at the station." She stepped back to let him pass, but he ignored the hints. There came an increase in the roaring from the direction of town and she started, casting an inquiring and appealing glance at her visitor.