“See to it that you don’t,” the man said, fiercely.
It was evident the ritual was at an end; that this last was an admonition, not a part of it. Jim shivered but he knew he had not gone astray, that here was the man Zaanan had sent him to see. He retired softly a hundred feet, then called aloud and floundered toward the spot where the ritual had been spoken.
Jim had not traversed half the distance before a man stepped from behind a mound. It was the same big, handsome, somber man whom Dolf Springer had called upon; it was Steve Gilders. Under his arm was the rifle that had sent a shiver up Dolf’s spine.
“Lookin’ for somebody?” he demanded.
“Yes. Judge Frame sent me.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ashe.”
“Own the new mills down to Diversity?”
“Yes. Are you the man I came to see?”
“Calc’late so. Names is handy in talkin’ to folks. Mine’s Steve.”