despite the intense pallor that overspread her face. Her dark,
questioning, dreading eyes looked up into his with an expression
he was never to forget. It combined dread, horror, doubt and a
smouldering anger that seemed to overcast all other emotions that
lay revealed to him.

"This is a--what is commonly called a 'road-house'?" she asked
dully, her eyes narrowing suddenly as if in pain.

The inn-keeper made haste to resent the implied criticism.

"My place is a respectable, law-abiding--"

The sheriff waved him aside.

"It is an inn during the winter, Mrs. Wrandall, and a road-house
in the summer, if that makes it plain to you. I will say, however,
that Burton has always kept well within the law. This is the
first--er--real bit of trouble he's had, and I won't say it's his
fault. Keep quiet, Burton. No one is accusing you of anything wrong.
Don't whine about it."

"But my place is ruined," groaned the doleful one. "It's got a
black eye now. Not that I blame you, madam, but you can see how--"

He quailed before the steady look in her eyes, and turned away
mumbling.

There were half a dozen men in the room, besides the speakers,
sober-faced fellows who conversed in undertones and studiously kept