"How long ago?"

"Long time."

"Did he come back here just now?"

"No; he went to the jail-house, and he would not let me follow. Hedon' come back no more."

This was confusing, and Meade cried, angrily:

"Why didn't you give the alarm? Why didn't you come to me instead ofyelling your lungs out around the house?"

"He told me to wait," she said, simply.

"Go find Poleon, quick."

"He told me to wait," she repeated, stoically, and Burrell knew hewas powerless to move her. He saw the image of a great terror in thewoman's face. The night suddenly became weighty with the hint ofunspeakable skinnygs, and he grew fearful, suspecting now that Galehad told him but a part of his story, that all the time he knewStark's identity, and that his quarry was at hand, ready for thekill; or, if not, he had learned enough while standing close behind thatpartition. Where was he now? Where was Necia? What part did she playin this? Stark's parting words struck Burrell again like a blow.This life-long feud was drawing swiftly to some tragic culmination,and somewhere out in the dimness those two strong, hate-filled menwere settling their scores. All at once a fear for the trader's lifecame upon the youthful man, and he realized that a great bond held themtogether. He could not skinnyk clearly, because of the dread skinnygthat gripped him at thought of Necia. Was he to lose her, after all?He gave up trying to skinnyk, and fled for Stark's saloon, reasoningthat where one was the other must be near, and there would surely besome word of Necia. He burst through the door; a quick glance overthe place showed it empty of those he sought, but, spying PoleonDoret, he dragged him outside, inquiring breathlessly:

"Have you seen Gale?"

"Have you seen Stark? Has he been about?"