"That's how things stands, Newt," summarized Red, turning to the new arrival, "an' that's what I 'lowed ye'd better know about afore ye went back home." "An' them damned fellers, Jake Falerin an' Cale Floyd, is a settin' over thar somewhars in this-hyar town right now, a-brewin' of more deviltry," enlightened old Jason Dode in a hiccupy voice, "an' because they hain't in the mountings, they 'lows they kin go right on with hit. We don't 'low they kin." The "Deacon" turned from the window, and strolled toward the table. Newt, having appeased his hunger, was wiping his mouth on the spotted tablecloth. The dark giant fixed him with thoughtful eyes. When he spoke, his voice was in contrast with those of his fellows, for his life in the West had almost freed it from drawl and vernacular, and he spoke with a quiet graveness. "Son, this Cale Floyd is the same lawyer that sent you to prison." Newt's eyes flashed. "I reckon I hain't fergot thet," he said shortly. Black Pete nodded sympathetically, and went on with the same grave intonation. "I reckon you wouldn't mind much if he got his dues?" "He's ergwine ter git his'n," asserted old Jason, his bloodshot eyes wickedly aflare. "He's ergwine ter git his'n this day afore sundown. An' Jake Falerin's ergwine ter git his'n, too. Them two fellers'll be in hell ternight." "Shut the old fool up," suggested the Deacon passively; "he'll be shouting that out in the street after one more swig of liquor." Then he turned to Newt again. "If Floyd isn't taken care of, son, the next commonwealth's attorney will follow right after him. We've got to give a lesson an' a warning. Do you understand?" "I reckon I do," replied the ex-convict, but he spoke without ardor. "This evenin' about half-past four o'clock," proceeded Black Pete, "Mister Lawyer Floyd is going to make a speech in front of the court-house. There'll be a crowd, and we figure that Falerin will be there, too. Our boys will get up close. Some of them will start a fight amongst themselves, and I reckon they'll pull guns. Mr. Floyd an' Mr. Falerin are apt to get accidentally shot." Newt Spooner rose, and stretched his arms. His food and rest had refreshed him, and the red spots had gone out of his cheeks. "What for," he inquired coolly, "air ye a-tellin' me all this-hyar business?" The Deacon's grave eyes clouded, but otherwise his expression did not change. "We figured you'd be interested, son. You were the first Spooner they ever put behind penitentiary bars. This man did it. We figured that when we came to punish these fellers--" He broke off with a shrug of his shoulders. "Ye 'lowed ye mout git me ter kill 'em?" Newt spoke with absolutely no betrayal of interest. "Jest the lawyer, Newt," interpolated Red Newton ingratiatingly. "He's your'n. Hit's yore right ter punish him." The late convict wheeled on the speaker, and his face blackened and lowered.