“I’m laying myself out to supply the reason,” Carver said. “I always did want to see a regular desperado working at his trade.” He removed his hat with his left hand and brought it with a back-handed slash across the marshal’s face. “You’re wicked clear through,” he said. “You’re just as bad as you can be.” He swung the hat twice again but Freel turned and walked toward his horse. “You’re not bad; you’re just tainted,” Carver stated. “I always felt that about you and now I know for sure.” The marshal mounted and turned upon Carver a face set in lines of stern disapproval. “I refuse to force an issue except in the regular routine of duty,” he proclaimed. “This is not a matter of official business. Otherwise----” He intended that the unfinished statement should carry an impressive implication of power held in reserve and which he controlled only with the greatest difficulty. He turned and rode off down the bottoms. “I feel like I’d just come in off a spree,” Carver told himself. “It shakes a man up something fearful to let his temper go running wild all over the lot. I oughtn’t to have lost hold of myself.” He regarded the closed door. A sharp rap sounded from the inside of it and Carver smiled as he speculated as to how many people of his acquaintance would have respected his unspoken wish that the door remain closed. The rap sounded again. “Come in,” he called. She opened the door and answered his smile, her eyes following the marshal as he disappeared in the scattering black-jacks of the bottoms. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you came just when you did. But I’m sorry if you made an enemy of him. I really don’t mind him--much.” “He’s right harmless,” said Carver. “But apt to be annoying. I don’t surmise he’ll be turning up here again.” He knew that the marshal operated only on safe ground. Freel had known that both elder brothers would be entirely indifferent to any course he might adopt toward Molly Lassiter if only it afforded a measure of protection for themselves; and she would not mention any such occurrence to Bart lest it precipitate trouble between himself and Freel. The girl motioned him to a seat on the bench. “You did remember your promise of the other day,” she commended. “About Bart, I mean. He said you’d pointed out the narrow pathway and invited him to join forces.” “I never did set up as a reformer,” Carver admitted, “and it likely sounded a mite unnatural, coming from me.” “Bart was a little vague about the plans,” she said. “Do you mind telling me what the proposition was?”