The council meeting took place in a large, unpainted room in the townhouse. Persia presided, just as if she were the legitimate mayor. She sat at one end of a table, wearing a dark serge suit and looking both businesslike and beautiful. Sam Lester sat at the other end, inscrutable behind the crystal mask of his spectacles. The four council members sat in between. Tesno drew up a chair to one side of Persia.

He listened impatiently while the members quibbled over the location of a town watering trough. A rasp-voiced man named Parris, who operated the hotel, did most of the talking. The three saloonkeeping councilmen kept glancing at Persia as if she would make the decision and the debate was a mere formality. Pinky Bronklin sat with his talonlike hand on the table where all could see it and said hardly a word.

Persia introduced Tesno with some little formality. He stated his demands as concisely as possible. He tried to avoid a dictatorial tone, yet he made it clear that one way or another he intended to see a drastic change in the town. When he had finished, the saloonkeepers sat sullenly quiet. It was Mr. Parris who spoke up, and he was angry.

"I agree that we could stand some improvement around here," he said. "But to request co-operation is one thing, to tell us what to do, another. Begging your pardon, Persia, I move that we tell Mr. Tesno to go to hell and then face our problems in our own way."

"That'll suit me fine, if you will face them," Tesno said. "But you'll clean up or I will. Take your choice."

"You'll clean up! Have you forgotten there's law in the land—and in this town. And it's on our side!" Mr. Parris slapped the table and glared.

"Law?" Tesno said icily. "You were elected by the drifting labor that built this town. You run a town full of thugs and card sharks. And you talk about law! Bring it on, Mr. Parris. While you're doing it, I'll close your town down tight. And I'll guarantee you you'll wind up with your charter pulled out from under you!"

"This won't do," Persia said. "You two agree that we ought to do something. Mr. Tesno is willing to let us do it in our own way—provided we do get results. Right, Mr. Tesno?"

"Right," he said.

"Then I don't see what you are arguing about. Mr. Tesno, now that you've told us what you want, would you mind leaving us and letting us thrash this out?"

"Fair enough," he said.

She had spoken crisply, almost hostilely. Now she said with a smile and in an entirely different tone, "Wait in my parlor."

He followed a long hall that led to the other part of the house. He entered the parlor and sat down to wait, musing about his abrupt dismissal. He had the impression that Tunneltown council meetings were little more than a mockery, that the members gathered to receive instructions rather than to make their own decisions. Even Mr. Parris had seemed to be arguing out of mere cantankerousness and not with any real hope of seeing his views prevail if Persia was against them.

Probably Persia was now telling them exactly how far they would go in co-operating with him. Or would it be Sam Lester who was doing the telling? That Lester was a power behind the throne seemed a real possibility. In any case, the council was a convenient device to avoid the pinpointing of responsibility on an individual.

Annoyed, he strolled into the dining room and poured himself a glass of brandy from a bottle on the sideboard. He could hear voices in the kitchen—Stella's and a stammering tenor that could belong only to Willie Silverknife. Returning to the parlor, he lighted a cigar and sat sipping the strong and fragrant liquor.

Persia appeared sooner than he expected. She was alone, and he wondered if Sam Lester would join them later. She insisted on getting him another brandy, and she poured herself a glass of wine, which she scarcely touched.

"You're going to get your blue-nosed town," she said gayly. "All I ask from you, Mr. Tesno, is a small amount of patience."

He frowned, but before he could reply she went on.

"We passed a couple of ordinances. Midnight closing. No liquor sold to drunks. We also agreed that a one-man police force isn't adequate, so we're going to hire a deputy. Satisfied?"

"How about the gambling?"

"That's where the patience comes in."

He shook his head. "The gambling has to go, Persia."

She smiled at him very slightly, as she might at a stubborn child. "I suppose you'll have your way, but, I shouldn't tell you this, Jack, but I will." She used his first name so naturally that he didn't notice for an instant. "Duke had to borrow heavily to build Tunneltown. He left me broke and in debt. The town brings in quite a little money now—though maybe not as much as most people think. But when I've made a monthly payment on the debts, there's very little left. If the town didn't give me my living expenses, I could scarcely get by. Now if the gambling goes, at least two saloons will have to close. If I lose the money from those leases, I'm ruined. There won't even be enough even to make the payments to my creditors."

He made a small gesture of helplessness. "The last thing I want to do is hurt you. But the gambling...."

"If we could just have a little time, we might find other kinds of business that would lease those buildings."

"It isn't my time to give away," he said. "It's Ben's. And he hasn't got much of it. How much do you need?"

"I've no idea."

"The crooked gamblers have to go right now along with the rest of the riffraff. There can be no delay about that."

She nodded to this. "If I'd had my way, they'd have gone long ago."

"Don't you always have your way, Persia?"

She seemed mildly startled. She gave a little shrug. "How do you tell which are crooked?"

"I can spot them for you."

"Jack, please. Keep out of it entirely. I ... I can't have Vickers' man butting in. You can understand that."

"Yes." It stung him to have her call him somebody else's man, though it wouldn't have bothered him if another person had said it.

She seemed to sense that he was hurt, and she gave him a long, sympathetic, almost maternal look. She didn't speak, and it pleased him to feel a communication between them that needed no words. They would put aside their differences now and speak of other things.

"I'll tell Stella we're ready for dinner," she said.

As she passed his chair, she laid her hand on his shoulder as she had the night before. Now he laid his over it. She stopped beside him, and her eyes were gold-flecked as they caught the lamplight, and she squeezed his fingers and moved away.

Hours later when she had gone to the door with him, he touched her arms and drew her to him. She came against him willingly, her arms slid around him, but she turned her head to avoid his kiss. She buried her face against his shoulder, and he laid his cheek against her hair.

"Persia," he said, "I've known little in life except roughness. You represent something that I didn't know could exist for me."

She pushed firmly away. "I've been a widow less than three months, Jack. I've no right to listen to such talk. Not now."

Her face was faintly flushed, her eyes dancing. Her smile carried a reprimand and a promise that was as old as womankind.

"You leave right now, Mr. Tesno," she said.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" he said.

"Yes!" she whispered. "Yes!"

She closed the door the instant he was over the threshold. He stood there a long moment, sure that she, too, was waiting only inches away. His fingers touched the doorknob, then fell to his side. He drew the restless night air deeply into his lungs and walked into the darkness.

Off to the west, lightning shattered the sky, and the town leaped fleetingly into being. Thunder pulsed distantly, and, swelling, rolled into the gulch.

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