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Blondy had picked up his hat as he returned the greeting. "I guess I'll be going," he said, and coughed to show that he was perfectly at ease, but it seemed to Vic that it was hard for Blondy to meet his eye when they shook hands. "See you later, Betty." "All right." She smiled at Vic a flash and then gathered dignity of both voice and manner. "You may go now, Tommy."
The policeman smiled, and then seized Blondy and Rhona each by an arm and started to march them toward Broadway. Myra followed wildly. Her mind was in a whirl and the bitter tears blurred her eyes. What could she do? How could she help? She sensed in the policeman's word a menace to Rhona. Rhona was in trouble, and she, Myra, was as good as useless in this crisis.
When the policeman with Rhona and Blondy passed up the steps between the green lamps of the new station-house, they found themselves in a long room whose warmth was a fine relief. They breathed more easily, loosened their coats, and then stepped forward. A police sergeant sat behind a railing, writing at a low desk, a low-hanging, green-shaded electric bulb above him.
"Didn't see you, Vic," Blondy was saying, his flushed face seeming doubly red against the paleness of his hair. "Have something?" "I ain't drinkin'," answered Gregg, and slowly, to make sure that no one could miss his meaning, he poured out a glass of liquor, and drank it with his face towards Hansen.
It's sure enough spring outside. I been eating it up, and we can do our talking over things at the dance. Let's ride now." "Dance?" "Sure, down to Singer's place." "It's going to be kind of hard to get out of going with Blondy. He asked me." "And you said you'd go?" "What are you flarin' up about?" "Look here, how long have you been traipsin' around with Blondy Hansen?"
It was dim in the saloon, compared with the brightness of the outdoors, and perhaps Blondy did not see Vic. At any rate he took his place at the other end of the bar. Three pictures tangled in the mind of Gregg like three bodies in a whirlpool Betty, Blondy, Pete Glass. That strange clearness of perception increased and the whole affair lay plainly before him.
Suddenly then she was pushed forward, and next the indoor policeman was handing her up to the judge, and now she stood face to face with her crisis. Again her heart pounded hard, her breath shortened. She was dimly aware of Joe and Myra behind her, and of Blondy and his friends beside her. She looked straight at the magistrate, not trusting herself to glance either side.
When he put his glass down his mind was clearer than ever; and with omniscient precision, with nerveless calm, he knew that he was going to kill Blondy Hansen; knew exactly where the bullet would strike. It was something put behind him; his mind had already seen Hansen fall, and he smiled.
The strange riders were coming steadily onward; they were not more than a hundred yards distant when Blackburn exclaimed, hoarsely: "Lawler; it's Blondy Antrim an' his gang! Damn his hide! We're in for it!" For the first time since Garvin had told him of the presence of the men on the trail behind the herd, Lawler's face betrayed passion the glow in his eyes rivaled that in the giant's.
She clenched one hand beside her in a way he knew, but it pleased him more than it warned him, just as it pleased him to see the ears of Grey Molly go back. "What's wrong about Blondy Hansen?" "What's right about him?" he countered senselessly. Her voice went a bit shrill. "Blondy is a gentleman, I'll have you know." "Is he?" "Don't you sneer at me, Victor Gregg. I won't have it!"
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