Wint got up abruptly. The old Wint would have reached for the bottle; this was the new Wint’s impulse. But he fought it down, steadied his voice. “Jack,” he said, a little huskily, “you’re a friend of mine. I don’t want to drink, never. Don’t offer it to me. Some day I might accept. Don’t ever offer me a drink, Jack. Please.” Routt was ashamed of himself, and angry at Wint for making him ashamed. “Hell, all right,” he said, and dropped the bottle into its place. “Come on, let’s take the air.” At a little after eleven that night, Mike Rand sought out Wint. Wint was standing before the cane booth, watching the ring-tossers. Rand pushed up beside him and touched his arm, and Wint looked around. The carnival boss said harshly: “Hey, you!” Wint looked around at him, and said quietly: “Evening. What’s the matter?” “Your damned hick marshal has pulled one of my men. I want to bail him out.” Wint took a minute to consider this, get his bearings. He had not seen Radabaugh all evening. He asked Rand: “You mean he’s made an arrest? What’s the charge?” “Claims the man was selling booze to a bum.” “Was he?” Wint inquired gently. “Was he” Rand growled. “No, of course not. You must think we’re bad men, coming here to dirty your pretty little town. He was selling liver pills, or pink tea. What the hell of it? I want to bail him out.” “No bail accepted,” said Wint quietly. “He’ll have to stay in the calaboose over night.” Rand exploded, as though he had been half expecting this. He said some harsh things about Hardiston, and some harsher things about Wint, none of which will bear repeating. In the midst of them, Wint stirred a little and struck the man heavily in the mouth with his right fist; at the same time, his left started and landed in the other’s throat, and the right went home again on Rand’s hard little jaw. Rand fell in a snoring heap. Wint was curiously elated. He looked around. A crowd had gathered, and some of the carnival men were pushing through the crowd. There was a belligerent look about them. Then he saw Marshal Jim Radabaugh elbowing through the circle, and Wint was glad to see Jim. He called him: “Marshal, here’s a man I’ve arrested.” That halted Rand’s underlings. Rand himself was groaning back to consciousness. Wint pointed down at him. “Take him to jail,” he said. One of the carnival men protested. Wint turned to him. “Close up your shows, all of you,” he told the man. “Your permit’s cancelled. Get out of town to-morrow.” Radabaugh had Rand on his feet; he gripped the man, his left hand twisted in the other’s collar. Two or three of Rand’s men surged toward them, and Radabaugh’s gun flickered into sight. It had a steadying effect; no one pressed closer.