“I suppose it does,” Wint agreed. Amos looked at him; and Wint moved abruptly in his chair, and his eyes began to flame. The puzzle cleared; he began to understand. He began to understand himself, his own thoughts, his feeling that he was to blame for--Hetty. He began to understand, and his lips set. He said, half aloud: “By God, it means a fight! A hell of a fight in Hardiston.” “Fight?” Amos asked casually, as though he were thinking of something else. “I like a fight, I’d like to see a good one.” And he added, after a moment: “I might take a hand; if it weren’t a private fight, or something.” Wint sat forward in his chair, looked around the room. “Where’s the telephone?” he asked. “Telephone?” said Amos. “Why, in the hall.” Wint got up and went swiftly out into the hall. Amos listened; and he smiled, with a twinkling anticipation in his eyes. He heard Wint ask the operator to locate Jim Radabaugh and get him on the ’phone. Then Wint came back and stood in the doorway, waiting while she signaled for the marshal with the red light that was set on a pole in the heart of the town. Amos did not turn around to look at Wint. Wint did not move. After a while, the ’phone rang twice. “That’s us,” said Amos, still without turning. “Our ring is two.” Wint went to the ’phone. Radabaugh, at the other end, said: “This is the marshal. Who’s talking?” “Wint. Mayor Chase.” “Oh! All right, Mister Mayor. What’s on your mind?” Wint said evenly: “I’ve instructions for you. If you are willing to carry them out, all right. If not, resign, and I’ll fill your place to-morrow.” “You’re the boss,” said Radabaugh amiably. “I do what you say.” “Either do what I say or resign,” said Wint again. “I want you to get busy and break up the liquor business in Hardiston.” There was a long silence, and Wint heard the marshal whistle softly under his breath. Then Radabaugh asked: “In earnest?” “Absolutely. I want the town cleaned up. I want it bone dry. Will you take the job? Or quit?” “Why,” said Radabaugh, “I’ll just naturally take the job. I’ve been a-wishing I had something to do.” Wint spoke a word or two more, hung up, and came back to Amos. He sat down without speaking. After a little, Amos asked, looking at Wint sidewise: “Going through with it?” “Yes,” said Wint. There was more resolution in the simple word than there would have been in lengthier protestations. “We-ell, all I can say,” Amos drawled, “is that this here is going to make an awful difference to V. R. Kite.” It did: a difference to Kite, and to Wint’s father, and to Jack Routt; and a difference to Wint himself. A difference to Hardiston, too. When Wint went home, at ten o’clock, the word was already humming around the town. END OF BOOK THREE BOOK IV LINE OF BATTLE CHAPTER I MARSHAL JIM RADABAUGH