Warden moistened his lips as he grinned his satisfaction.

“There’s only one trail, Singleton—­you are sure of that?”

“One trail—­the Tom Long trail.  The devil himself couldn’t find another through that country.”

Warden leaned back in his chair, laughing lowly.  Into his manner as he sat there came a confidence that had not been there before—­bold, arrogant.  His laugh had a sinister quality in it; in his eyes was the light of greed.

And as he watched Singleton something else came into his eyes—­something abysmal, causing them to narrow and glow with a bestial light.

“Singleton,” he said, his voice thick and throaty; “when I stepped into Jim Lefingwell’s boots the county board of education appointed me to succeed Lefingwell as school commissioner for Willets.  It strikes me that something ought to be done about the teacher punishing your boy.  I think I had better have a talk with her.”

“Shucks,” growled Singleton; “I reckon the kid deserved what he got.  He was tryin’ to wallop her when Lawler come in.  I ain’t admirin’ Ruth Hamlin none, but I reckon she wasn’t to blame for that.  If you was figgerin’ to see Lawler, now, why that would be more to the point.”  He grinned crookedly at Warden, slight mockery in his gaze.

Warden scowled.  “That’s your job, Singleton.  If he tries to ‘wallop’ me as he walloped you, I’ll have something to say to him.”

“It’s safer to telegraph to the cuss,” grinned Singleton, sourly.

Warden apparently did not hear Singleton’s last words, for he was gazing meditatively past him.  He took leave of Singleton and walked to the front of the saloon, where he stood for many minutes leaning on the bar, thoughtfully looking out into the street.

The shadows of the buildings across the street from him had grown long, and the light from the sun was mellowing when Warden walked to the front door and stood for an instant on the threshold.

Down the street in front of his office stood Red King.  Other horses were hitched here and there, but there was no human being in sight.  The quiet peace of the waning afternoon had settled over town; it was the period when human activity slackens.

Warden stepped down upon the sidewalk.  There was a furtive gleam in his eyes, his face was flushed; he was in the grip of a passion that thoughts of Ruth Hamlin had brought to him.  He had seen the girl a number of times; he had talked with her twice.  Each time when he had talked with her he had felt the heat of a great desire seize him.  And during his talk with Singleton he had yielded to the impulse that was now driving him.