“I heard it all,” declared Mack Shell. “I was right behind yuh. Dan Corteen started it, thinkin’ you’d crawl--and yuh didn’t. Forget Dan Corteen. He’s had it comin’ a long time, Streak.” “I guess you’re right, Mack.” “I know this kind of a deal. Corteen was here to get you. The next one won’t give yuh a break--yuh’re dangerous. I got a good look at the expression on Zero Brant’s face, and the sand was spillin’ out of his craw. You killed his pet monkey and he don’t like it.” * * * * * It was nearly dark that evening, when Streak Malone ran face to face with the woman who got off the stage that day. She was just leaving the hotel entrance. She stopped short, staring at Streak. “Who are you?” she asked throatily. Streak smiled slowly. “I am Streak Malone, marshal of Silver Butte, ma’am.” “Streak Malone?” She shook her head and repeated it again, under her breath. Streak said, “Ma’am, I’d advise against yuh goin’ out on the street alone.” She smiled thinly and said, “I expect to deal faro at the new Eureka and I must see a Mr. Flack.” “No matter what yuh do for a livin’, this street ain’t safe,” Malone declared. “I’ll take yuh over there, if I may.” “Thank you, Mr. Malone.” They reached the other side of the street and stopped in front of the Eureka. Streak noticed that she still seemed to look at him in amazement, tinged with disbelief. “Be careful, ma’am,” he said. “Jim Flack is all right, but conditions in this town are very bad.” “Thank you, but I shall do very nicely, I’m sure. By the way, I believe you had a little trouble with Dan Corteen today.” “You knew him?” “Oh, no, I merely met him on the stage. Thank you for bringing me over here.” “You are very welcome, ma’am.” “I am Clare Ames,” she said simply. “Names don’t usually mean much out here.” Streak laughed. “Yuh mean--you change ’em often?” “Not too often. For instance, you were probably not christened Streak Malone--or even Malone.” Streak smiled slowly. “A child has little chance to select a name,” he said. “Parents very often give children names that they detest later on in life, so they can’t blame us for takin’ one that we like better.” “Or one that is safer.” Streak looked at her curiously. “Yes,” he said, “I believe that is true, Miss Ames. Good luck to you and your new job.” “Thank you, Mr. Malone.” Streak walked to the edge of the rough sidewalk, his eyes very thoughtful. Why did that woman say, “You were probably not christened Malone,” he wondered. Why did she look at him, wide-eyed? He had never seen her before she came to Silver Butte.