"Shut up and get out," said another voice. Heavy footsteps retreated, then Andrew heard them once more grumbling and booming below him. After that his head cleared rapidly. Two windows were open in this higher room, and a sharp current of the night wind blew across him, clearing his mind as rapidly as wind blows away a fog. Now he made out that one man had not left him; the dark outline of him was by the bed, waiting. "Who's there?" asked Andrew. "Allister. Take it easy." "I'm all right. I'll go down again to the boys." "That's what I'm here to talk to you about, kid. Are you sure your head's clear?" "Yep. Sure thing." "Then listen to me, Lanning, while I talk. It's important. Stay here till the morning, then ride on." "Where?" "Oh, away from Martindale, that's all." "Out of the desert? Out of the mountains?" "Of course. They'll hunt for you here." Allister paused, then went on. "And when you get away what'll you do? Go straight?" "God willing," said Andrew fervently. "It--it was only luck, bad luck, that put me where I am." The outlaw scratched a match and lighted a candle; then he dropped a little of the melted tallow on a box, and by that light he peered earnestly into Andrew's face. He appeared to need this light to read the expression on it. It also enabled Andrew to see the face of Allister. Sometimes the play of shadows made that face unreal as a dream, sometimes the face was filled with poetic beauty, sometimes the light gleamed on the scar and the sardonic smile, and then it was a face out of hell. "You're going to get away from the mountain desert and go straight," said Allister. "That's it." He saw that the outlaw was staring with a smile, half grim and half sad, into the shadows and far away. "Lanning, let me tell you. You'll never get away." "You don't understand," said Andrew. "I don't like fighting. It--it makes me sick inside. I'm not a brave man!" He waited to see the contempt come on the face of the famous leader, but there was nothing but grave attention. "Why," Andy went on in a rush of confidence, "everybody in Martindale knows that I'm not a fighter. Those fellows downstairs think that I'm a sort of bad hombre. I'm not. Why, Allister, when I turned over Buck Heath and saw his face, I nearly fainted, and then--" "Wait," cut in the other. "That was your first man. You didn't kill him, but you thought you had. You nearly fainted, then. But as I gather it, after you shot Bill Dozier you simply sat on your horse and waited. Did you feel like fainting then?" "No," explained Andrew hastily. "I wanted to go after them and shoot'em all. They could have rushed me and taken me prisoner easily, but they wanted to shoot me from a distance--and it made me mad to see them work it. I--I hated them all, and I had a reason for it. Curse them!" He added hurriedly: "But I've no grudge against anybody. All I want is a chance to live quiet and clean." There was a faint sigh from Allister.