"Come, lass." O'Hara held out a hand to Stella. "I'll see you to my cabin, which is yours for the night. I'll move into the bunkhouse."
"I'll go along," Tesno said. "There's more that I want Stella to tell me. A whole lot more."
He ate a late supper at the cookhouse and got back to town well after dark. He went to the hotel, bolted the door of his room, and went to bed.
Toward midnight, he was awakened by a persistent rapping. It turned out to be Parris, the hotel owner and town councilman. He helped himself to a chair and seemed to settle himself for a long talk.
"Just came from a council meeting."
"I figured there'd be one," Tesno said.
"I don't like what's happening," Parris said. He had a loud, harsh voice. "I don't like wide-open saloons. I don't like gambling. But most of all, I don't like your barging in like God Almighty and pushing people around. The town ought to handle its own problems."
Tesno, tousled, sleep-eyed, in his underwear, was in no mood to listen to complaints. "Willie Silverknife is dead," he growled.
"Yes, and you're likely to be if you try to enforce that noon deadline you laid down. That's a friendly warning, Tesno, not a threat. They'll be ready for you tomorrow. Madrid has organized every barkeep and every gambler in town into what he calls a vigilance committee, and the council is backing him up. Every man will be armed and waiting for you. The first violent move you make, they'll drop you. Try Willie's trick with the dynamite, and they'll kill you before you can light the fuse. I don't like it and I spoke against it. I don't want any more killing."
"Was Persia at the meeting?" Tesno asked.