When darkness settled a figure began to follow Patton--a tall, ungainly, heavy-shouldered figure. It shadowed him down the single street of the desert town to the depot, where he bought two tickets and checked two beribboned trunks; it lurked at his heels when he went back along the dirt sidewalk to Conley’s restaurant, the largest of the score of unpainted pine shacks that made up Searles. The restaurant faced the single track of the railroad line, and as Patton ate his supper, the figure stood on the ties, quiet and watchful. When Patton left the restaurant for the barber-shop farther along the street, it moved parallel with him, and took up its station outside a front window of the place. Patton entered the shop hurriedly and dropped into the only chair. He was a man of, perhaps, forty, with black hair that was brushed away slickly from a narrow forehead, and black eyes set deep and near together. His nose was long and sharply pointed. His mouth was too full for his lean jaws, which gave his cheeks the appearance of being constantly sucked in. But he was far from ill-looking. And when he got out of the barber’s chair presently, fresh-shaven, there was a healthy glow to his dark skin under its trace of powder. He arranged a spotless collar and a fresh tie, settled his soft hat on his carefully combed hair, adjusted his coat before a mirror, and went out. The figure moved with him, going toward the depot once more. A building beyond the station was brightly lighted. Patton made toward it, walking fast and whistling. The figure walked faster than he--until it was almost at his heels. “Patton!” Patton halted. “Hello,” he returned cheerily. “Who is it?” The figure halted. “It’s Jeff Blandy,” was the answer. “Oh.” The tone showed displeasure. Patton backed away a step. “Well, what can I do for you?” Blandy did not reply at once. Then, “You can’t do nothin’ for _me_,” he said. “I just want to say a word or two about--Polly Baker.” “Yes?” inquired Patton impatiently. “Well, hurry up. The ceremony’s at nine-thirty. The west-bound goes through at eleven.” Again there was a short silence. When Blandy went on, his voice was lowered. “She ain’t got no paw nor maw, nor no brother. That’s why _I’m_ a-speakin’ to you.” “I’ll look after her,” said Patton coldly. “I’d like to feel right shore of that. You see, she and me has been good friends for a long while. And I want to ask you, Patton, to play fair with her, and----” “Say! look here!” broke in the other man. “You’re putting your lip into something that’s none of your business.” “Do y’ _think_ so?” retorted Blandy with sudden spirit. “Wal, out here in the West, a man’s likely to find hull crowds that’ll make it their business if he can’t see his way to treatin’ a woman white.” “What do you mean?” demanded Patton.