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.