Leaning on the brass foot of the bed in a clean shirt and trousers, his cigar bobbing in the corner of his mouth as he spoke, Morgan said gently, “A man needs a little rest after fighting those wild-eyed jacks off my neck half the night.”

Carl grinned again. Behind Morgan, Blaisedell stood with his arms folded over his chest, and only his blue eyes alive in his cold, bruised and scraped face. There was a tramp of hoofs outside the window, and Gannon could hear the men talking there. “Let’s get moving,” one said. “Where’s Gannon. He going to weasel on this?”

“What happened?” Gannon said quickly, to Carl.

“Just stupid,” Carl said, in an embarrassed voice. “Curley and me had some more words. That was there by the Billiard Parlor and I kind of surprised myself and him too getting drawed before he did.” He laughed shakily. “Durned if I didn’t! Well, I kind of cooled off, seeing I’d got the drop; so I thought I’d camp him in jail for the night. So I called for his piece—” His voice trailed off.

“Curley went to let him take it and then spun it on him,” Mosbie said. “I saw him do it, and a good lot of others standing there saw it. Run the road-agent spin on him, by God — pardon me, Miss Jessie. I should have chose him myself, I just about did earlier.”

“We’ll see he is caught, Carl,” Buck Slavin said solemnly.

Gannon saw a little cluster of bluish veins at Carl’s temple, and the slow beat of blood in them. He had never seen those veins there before. The flesh of Carl’s face looked as though it had been waxed.

“Better get a posse riding, Johnny,” Pike said. “There is a good lot gathered outside already.”

“Not much use till morning,” Carl said. “If I was doing it I’d wait. Nobody could follow sign till light.”

Miss Jessie patted Carl’s hand. Her hand was white and small beneath the long cuff of her sleeve, the nails cut shorter than Kate’s. Carl’s brows knit together beneath the long, crusted scratch on his forehead, and Carl’s eyes took on an inward expression.

“Feels like something’s broke loose again, Doc,” Carl said easily. “I don’t want to bleed up Miss Jessie’s nice bed.”

“It will stop,” the doctor said.

“Let’s go on outside,” Pike whispered, and he left the room, followed by Buck, Wheeler, Mosbie, and Sam Brown.

Gannon could hear more horses in the street now. He saw Carl’s eyes close and he quickly looked up at the doctor, who had on his nightshirt beneath his rusty black suit. The doctor shook his head.

Gannon saw that Blaisedell was watching him expressionlessly. Above Blaisedell’s head was a mezzotint of a man thrashing at some ocean waves with a long sword.

Carl opened his eyes again. “You know?” he said. “It makes a person sort of mad — I mean I was just watching it go by in my head here. Say you catch him, Johnny, and the judge binds him over to trial in Bright’s. He will just get off.” He laughed a little and said, “Are you going to post him out of town for me, Marshal?”

Gannon heard Miss Jessie draw in her breath; he saw Morgan’s face harden. Blaisedell didn’t give any sign that he had heard.

Miss Jessie said, “David, I think he ought to rest a little now. I think everybody ought to leave and let him rest.” She said it as though she were talking to the doctor, but it sounded like a command. Gannon started to get to his feet.

“Except Johnny,” Carl said. “Leave Johnny stay.”

Miss Jessie rose with a quick movement, brushing her hands together in her skirt. Her eyes looked tired, but very bright; her brown ringlets swung as she turned toward Blaisedell. She went over to take Blaisedell’s arm, as though she must lead him out, and Morgan’s cold eyes followed her all the way. They all left the room.

Gannon knelt uncomfortably beside the bed, watching Carl’s face, in profile to him, and the steady throb of the little cluster of veins. Carl whispered, “I’m going, old horse.”

Gannon shook his head.

“It is like big gray curtains coming down. You can kind of see them trailing down — like the bottom of a tornado cloud coming down. Getting black like that too, but slow.”

“I’m sorry, Carl,” he said.

“Surely,” Carl said, as though to comfort him. “We have been friends and got along, haven’t we? I was a good enough deputy, wasn’t I? Whatever old Judge had to say about it.”

Gannon tried to speak and choked on it.

Carl laughed soundlessly. “Well, I don’t know what I am crying about now. I knew one of those cowboys was going to score me, and I guess I’d just as soon it was Curley.

“Ah, I came in all big medicine brave on account of Bill Canning,” he went on. “And saw what I was into, and caved in for a while. Pure fright. But I come up again, I’ll say that for myself. I picked up there toward the last. Why, I was right proud of myself standing up to Curley like I did. I just wish I didn’t have to go out on killing that poor, stupid jack, though; that was no kind of thing. And sorry to leave you right in the middle of all hell, Johnny. With Curley to get, and I suppose somebody ought to get word in to Bright’s City on Murch, in case he went that way. And muckers and Regulators.” He began to chuckle again, his shirt trembling over his chest with it. “Maybe I picked the best time after all,” he said. “But damn Curley Burne anyhow.”

Carl looked exhausted now, and his eyes seemed suddenly sunken. After a moment he said, “Me and Curley scrapped over Blaisedell mostly. I guess you figured that.”

“I thought it’d been that, Carl.”

Carl’s eyes flared in their sockets, like candles guttering. “Once in a while — once in a long while there’s a man— Blaisedell made a man of me, Johnny. But now—”

“I know,” he said quickly.

“Things getting him down,” Carl whispered. “Bringing him low. Like those jacks tonight, and nothing for a man to do to help him back. Then somebody comes along and you can speak up for him. And maybe because it is the only thing you can do — you push it too hard. Maybe I pushed Curley too hard.”

“Never mind it now, Carl.” Gannon could hear now, in the street outside, the pad of hoofs and the jingle of spurs and harness, and voices, diminishing as the men rode away.

“I always was a talker,” Carl said. His eyes drooped closed. His hands moved slowly to fold themselves upon his chest. He looked as though he were aging at tremendous speed.

Gannon rose from his knees and sank into the chair. He saw Miss Jessie standing in the doorway behind him, one hand to her throat and her round eyes fixed on him steadily.

Carl whispered something and he had to bend forward to hear it.

“—post him out,” Carl was saying, smiling a little, his eyes still closed. “And right down the middle of the street with no two ways about it, like that in the Acme was.” His voice came more strongly. “Why, that’d be epitaph enough for a man! Carl Schroeder that was deputy in Warlock, shot by Curley Burne. And right next to me: Curley Burne, killed for it by Clay Blaisedell, Marshal. Cut that in stone! That’d be—” His words became a kind of soft rustling Gannon could no longer understand.

Gannon sat watching with fascination the slow movement in the little veins, knowing he should be both with the posse, which was not a posse without him, and here with Carl.

“That stupid jack!” Carl said suddenly. His eyes opened and all at once fright was written with cruel marks upon his face. He reached for Gannon’s hand and gripped it tightly. “Johnny! Bring out your Colt’s and hand it here!”

“Carl, you—”

“Quick! There is not much time!”

Gannon drew his six-shooter and held it out where Carl could see it, which seemed to be what Carl wanted.

“Hold it right,” Carl said. “Finger on the trigger.” Carl caught hold of the barrel and gave it a jerk. Then he groaned. “Yes!” he whispered, as Gannon withdrew the Colt. “I pulled on it the same as that damned, stupid jack did to me with the shotgun. No, not the same! But by God it was!”