Al Murch looked inside; behind him the racket was louder. “There is some jacks here to see you, Blaisedell,” Murch said. He stood barring the door with his broad frame, but behind him Morgan could see the big miner, Brunk, and another one with a red welt along the side of his head.

“What about?” he said, as Clay rose.

“Proposition to put to Blaisedell, Morgan!” someone called.

“Let us in, Morgan,” Brunk said, and Morgan nodded to Murch, who let four of them in.

“That’s enough, Al,” he said, and Murch fought the door closed against the rest.

Brunk looked as though he would rather be somewhere else. With him was an old miner with a goat beard, another heavy-set one with a black waxed and pointed mustache, and a fourth, the one with the bruise on his head, who was bald and had an Adam’s apple like a billiard ball.

“You do the talking, Frank,” Goat-beard said. He said to Clay, “We have went out at the Medusa, Marshal.”

“He is not marshal any more,” Morgan said, and Goat-beard looked at him with dislike.

Brunk, who had a rough-cut, square face and hands the size of shovels, pointed to Bald-head’s bruise. “Wash Haggin did that,” he said. “They have dropped wages at the Medusa a dollar a day, and MacDonald’s hired himself about fifteen hardcases in case there was any complaint about it. Wash Haggin did that to Bobby Patch.”

“Don’t do to complain,” Bald-head said, and grinned toothily. But he looked scared.

“Winchesters and shotguns around to fit out an army,” Waxed-mustache said. “Both Haggins was there, and Jack Cade and that one Quint Whitby.”

Morgan said, “McQuown?”

Brunk shook his head. “Not him or Curley Burne.”

“Put it to him, Frank,” Goat-beard said, and nudged Brunk.

“Well, MacDonald’s got these people up there to try to scare everybody to going back to work,” Brunk said. “We kind of think they will do more, too. We think MacDonald is going to send them in here to run some of us out of town. Like he did with Lathrop last year.”

“Run you out, you mean?” Morgan said, and Brunk’s big, red face twisted angrily.

“What did you want to see me for?” Clay asked. “It sounds like you had better see the deputies.”

Waxed-mustache said, “They are no good for us, Marshal.” He spread his hands out. “You are the man for us.”

“We’ve got to keep those hardcases off us some way,” Brunk said stolidly. “They’ve got too much artillery. We need a gunman.” He stopped and swallowed; it looked, Morgan thought, as though it swallowed hard.

“You are the one that could do it,” Brunk went on. “Schroeder is not much friendly with us, and him and Gannon couldn’t do anything against that bunch even if they wanted to. We are having a meeting tonight as soon as we see what’s happened at the Sister Fan and the rest.” He licked his lips. “And we’ll get organized and the union will collect dues. We can pay you for kind of marshaling for us,” he said. “That’s our proposition, Marshal.”

“I guess not, boys,” Clay said. “Sorry.”

“Told you,” Bald-head said. “Told you he wouldn’t.”

“I guess MacDonald got to him first,” Goat-beard said. “MacDonald is a step ahead of us all the way, looks like.”

Morgan watched Clay shake his head, apparently without anger. “Nobody’s got to me, old man. I am not against you or for you either. I’m just not in it.”

Morgan nodded to Murch, who caught hold of Brunk’s arm. “Let’s skin out, fellows,” Murch said, in his rasping voice. “Mr. Morgan and Mr. Blaisedell’s busy.”

“Told you he wouldn’t,” Bald-head said, starting for the door.

“Why should he?” Brunk said, and jerked his arm away from Murch.

“What do you mean by that?” Clay said.

“Well, why should you?” Brunk said loudly. “We can’t pay you like any rich-man’s Citizens’ Committee, with MacDonald sitting on it. We don’t want killing done to hire you for. Only killers kept off us. So why would you be interested?”

“Al!” Morgan said, and Murch caught hold of Brunk’s arm again. Waxed-mustache was grimacing violently.

“Let him be,” Clay said. More color showed in his pale face. “Let him have his say out.”

Brunk glanced down at Clay’s shell belt, which showed beneath his coat; he glanced quickly at Morgan. He said in a stifled voice, “I’m not saying anything but that we need help, Blaisedell.”

“Let me tell you,” Clay said. “So there is no misunderstanding here. I was hired marshal here, and I have quit it. I’m not hiring out again to the Citizens’ Committee, or MacDonald, or you, or anybody. What more is there to say than that?”

“Nothing, by damn!” Goat-beard said. “Let’s get out of here, Frank!”

“No, wait a minute,” Clay said to Brunk. “There is something you are choking on yet, and was last night. Go ahead and spit it out.”

“Do you think I am scared to?” Brunk said.

“Who asked you to be?” Clay said.

“Get him out of here, Al,” Morgan said, but Clay looked at him angrily.

“I want to hear what he has to say, Morg.”

“Never mind it, Frank!” Waxed-mustache said. “Let be, can’t you?”

Clay stared steadily at Brunk, and Brunk took a step back away from him. His face working, he said, “I was just saying — I mean, rich men can have themselves a marshal, but no dirty, ignorant muckers can. Surely; that’s all. It’s clear enough.”

“That wasn’t what you was going to say,” Clay said. It was as though he were calling Brunk a liar. “That wasn’t what you was saying last night, either. Say it out. Say it clear out, Brunk. I would rather a man said a thing to my face than behind my back.”

Brunk just stood there facing him with his hands at his sides and his thick shoulders hunched a little. Murch moved toward him and Brunk snatched a hand to the haft of his bowie knife. Suddenly he said, “All right, I will say it to your face! I say you would have shot me down like your Citizens’ Committee told you to, only Miss Jessie begged me off.” Brunk stopped and his head swung sideways, as Morgan moved to lean forward with his hands on the desk top.

Then Brunk’s voice rose. “But even your respectable friends threw you down when you and your high-roller partner went to robbing stages!”

“Holy Christ, Frank!” Bald-head whispered.

Brunk sucked his breath in, and then cried explosively, “And when you and him went to killing cowboys to make like it was them had done it! And Morgan kicks out a broken-arm fellow’s teeth for saying it! Well, I say if your high-toned Citizens’ Committee don’t want you any more, then the damned miners don’t either!”

Morgan slowly turned toward Clay. Nothing showed in Clay’s face. He reached for his hat, and Brunk drew back at the movement. Brunk shifted his feet to keep facing Clay as Clay slowly came out around the desk. Bald-head and Waxed-mustache backed out of his way. Clay put on his hat, and, without a word, went out the alley door and pulled it closed behind him.

In the silence the noise of the crowd of miners in the Glass Slipper was very loud. Murch started to slide the bar back and open the door.

“Keep it shut,” Morgan said, in a voice he could hardly recognize as his own.

“Here, now!” Bald-head said fearfully.

Morgan stripped off his coat, unbuckled his shoulder holster, and dropped Colt and harness on the desk with a thump. He opened the drawer and brought his knife out. Brunk’s scarlet face swam in his eyes. “Do you know how to use that sticker of yours, mucker?” he said.

“Now hold on, now!” Waxed-mustache said. “Now, listen, Morgan; Frank here said things he had no cause to say and didn’t mean. Now let’s not—”

“Get it out, if you know how to use it,” he said to Brunk. He pricked the palm of his hand with the knife’s point. “You had better know,” he said. He came out from behind his desk, and the others moved away from Brunk.

“He is big, Tom,” Murch said. “You had better leave me—”

“This is mine. Get it out!” he said. Brunk was hesitating with his hand on the haft of his bowie. “Why, I am giving you a fair shake, aren’t I?” Morgan said, grinning. “Prove you are right by sticking me. Or I’ll prove you are an over-grown, yellow-livered lying hog that’s not fit to lick his boots you just pissed all over. Get it out and talk like that to me!”