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 has touched him with a bullet; there's not a man alive that can do it. If you go back there tonight he'll kill you, gun or no gun."

"He didn't have any right to order me around that way," Dunham argued. "A man's not an outlaw because he defends his life."

"Mr. Ruddy, the man you were talking to—the mayor, you know—says Kellogg had a perfect right to order you to leave town if he thought you might create a public disturbance or cause trouble by staying there. If you had fought him and killed him you'd have been arrested and tried for murder. That's what Mr. MacKinnon said."

She was so earnest Dunham could not doubt any longer the honesty of her intention or the disinterestedness of her interference with his foolish plan of defiance.

"I—Mr. MacKinnon and I thought it was a pity to see you killed off for no reason at all," she said, with such simple sincerity it made Dunham feel very small and cheap.

"I guess you're right," he admitted contritely, breaking into a sweat at realization of the peril his misguided independence had led him so near. "But I guess it won't be any harm if I go back and kick around in the weeds to see if I can find my gun."

"Forget your gun!" she said severely. "You're a whole lot better off tonight without it."

"It's a good old gun; I hate to lose it," he pleaded.

"Well, you're not goin' back. And that's a cinch!"

"All right, Miss Moore," he yielded, as tame and