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"Come in and help me convince him, Rhetta," Judge Thayer said, his gray-flecked beard twinkling with the pleasure that beamed from his eyes. "Mr. Morgan, my daughter. You have met before." Morgan rose in considerable confusion, feeling more like an abashed and clumsy cowboy than he ever had felt before in his life.
More than that, Morgan brooded a great deal on the defilement of blood he had suffered there, and the alienation, real or fancied, that it had brought of such friends as he valued in that town. By an avoidance now unmistakably mutual, Morgan and Rhetta Thayer had not met since the night of Peden's fall.
"I had forgotten all about saving the county seat I was considering only the soul of Ascalon," he said. "If you refuse to let father swear you in, Mr. Morgan, Craddock will say you were afraid. I'd hate to have him do that," said Rhetta. "He might," Morgan granted, and with subdued voice and thoughtful manner that gave them a fresh rebound of hope.
He knew that Rhetta Thayer stood in the shade of the bank with her father and others; he was cheered by the support of her presence to witness his triumph or fall. Now, as the train swept into the first obscuring swale, Morgan rode around the depot again to see that none had slipped through either in malice or curiosity.
But too late; their joint laughter drowned his attempt to set it right, and the world lost a compliment that might have graced a courtier's tongue, perhaps. But, not likely. Morgan proffered the chair he had occupied, but Rhetta knew of one in reserve behind the display of wheat and oats in sheaf on the table.
"Not as much as you owe him, if it was the last drop of blood in your heart!" said Violet. And she turned away, and went and stood by the door. "They'll burn the town!" Rhetta moaned. "Oh, isn't anybody going to help me won't you call him, Violet?" "No," said Violet. "He can hear you he'll come if he wants to if he's fool enough to do it again!" "Violet!" her mother cautioned.
Rhetta nodded, her bosom quivering with the pounding of her expectant heart, her throat throbbing, her hands clenched as if she held on in desperate hope of rescue. Judge Thayer said no more. He sat watching Morgan's face, knowing well when a word too many might change the verdict to his loss. "The question is, how far do they want a man to go in the regeneration of Ascalon?
Only Morgan remained there with the dead men, like a lone tragedian whose part was not yet done. Rhetta looked for one terrifying moment on that scene, its tragic detail impressed on her senses as a revelation of lightning leaps out of the blackest night to be remembered for its surrounding terror. And in that moment Morgan saw her face; the horror, the revulsion, the sickness of her shocked soul.
Rhetta had come through the night strained almost to breaking. All day she had hidden like one crushed and shamed, in Stilwell's house, pouring out to Violet the misery of her soul. Now, at night, she was calmer, the haunting terror of the scene which rose up before her eyes was drawing off, like some frightful thing that had stood a menace to her life.
Judge Thayer found her standing in the door when he completed his search around the square, his heart falling lower at every step. "He's gone! Morgan's deserted us!" he said. "Gone!" she repeated in high scorn. "He'll be the last to go." "I can't find him anywhere I've hunted all over town. Nobody has seen him. I tell you, Rhetta, he's gone." "I wish to heaven he would go!
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