Then Cole Dalton had finished and Broderick was talking.  It was as though each man in turn were making his report to the others.  As before not a word came to the ears which she strove futilely to make inattentive.  A certain quality in the speaker’s voice drew fresh speculation from her.  He spoke quietly, with no single interruption from the others and with a positiveness that was like a command, as though he whom she had thought possibly a deputy were coolly telling both Pollard and Cole Dalton what they should do, when they should do it and how.  The voice was arrogant, cool and confident.

Again the sheriff’s voice floated up to her, raised a little, rasping out what sounded like a protest.  And Broderick’s answer was another short laugh, full of contempt and followed by a few emphatic, crisp words which she did not catch.

That ended the consultation.  She knew it from the silence which followed the curt finality of Broderick’s retort and from the scraping of chair legs followed by the sound of the men pacing back and forth and speaking in new, unguarded tones.  Now their conversation came to her for the first time.

“You’ll be going out tonight, Dalton?” Pollard asked.

“No.  The first thing in the morning.”

“And you, Broderick?”

“I’ll trot along tonight, Henry.  But not,” the cool voice carelessly, “until I’ve had something to eat.  I know you’re going to ask me to stay to supper!”

“What do you want to stay for, Ben?” demanded Pollard with something of irritation in the question.  “Haven’t you got enough on your hands....”

Broderick’s ready laugh, slow, easy, vaguely insolent, rose clearly to Winifred’s ears.

“You’re sure a hospitable cuss,” he retorted.  “Don’t be a hog on top of it, Henry.  I want to see that pretty niece of yours.”

The girl’s cheeks went red at the light tone.  She waited to hear her uncle’s short rejoinder.  And she heard nothing beyond the sheriff’s rasping chuckle.

When Mrs. Riddell called from the foot of the stairs that supper was ready Winifred had fully made up her mind that she would not go down.  She heard the three men chatting lightly and decided that she would get something to eat after they had finished and gone.  But as though her uncle had caught her thought he too came to the foot of the stairs, calling to her.

“Winifred,” he was saying, “supper’s ready.  Sheriff Dalton is here, and Mr. Broderick, a friend of mine.  I want you to tell them what you have told me.”

She hesitated a moment, biting her lip.  Then she answered, “All right, Uncle Henry; I’ll be right down.”  She went to her wash-stand, arranged her hair swiftly, saw that the flush had gone out of her cheeks, that her eyes were cool and told nothing, and went down to join the three men who had already taken their places at the dinner table.