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and large hips. When she spoke, her voice was soft and carried a southern accent. “What is it, please?” she said.
     “Len in?” Gurney said.
     The woman nodded. “Sure he's in,” she said. “Who shall I say?”
     Gurney took a step forward, pushing the woman back. Followed by Dillon, he walked into the house. The woman retreated, her face suddenly frightened. “What is it?” she asked breathlessly. “You can't come busting in like this.”
     Gurney walked into the sitting-room. Franks was sitting in an easy chair holding a child awkwardly, a bottle of milk suspended in his hand. Franks was a big, smoothfaced guy, young and free from the usual mashed features of a fighter.
     The woman brushed past Gurney and ran over to Franks. She was badly scared. Franks pushed the baby into her arms, getting to his feet quickly. He was startled. His eyes showed it; they were a little wide, but he wasn't losing his head. If there was going to be trouble, his confidence in his great flat muscles was unshakable.
     “You can't come in here like this,” he said to Gurney. “I see guys like you at the gym.”
     Gurney grinned uneasily. He was a little nervous of Franks. “We're in, buddy,” he said. “Get the dame outta here, we want to talk to you.”
     Franks said, “Beth, take the kid.”
     She went out without a word. She was only gone a second or so. She came back alone, and stood just behind Franks. Her eyes were big and scared. Franks said to her patiently, “Keep out of this, honey.”
     She didn't say anything, but she didn't move. Dillon's thin lips set in a sneer.
     Franks was calming down. He said, “You sure startled me,” there was a foolish little smile on his big, rubbery lips, “bustin' in like that. You're crazy I might've pushed you boys around.”
     Gurney said, “Don't talk big, Franks, you're in a spot.”
     Franks' eyes opened. He knotted his muscles. Gurney could see them swelling under his coat. “Not from you I ain't,” he said. “What is it?”
     Gurney pulled a chair round and sat down. He was careful to put the table between them. Dillon leant against the door. Beth watched him the whole time. She was dead scared of Dillon.
     “We're tippin' you off,” Gurney said evenly, “Sankey's gotta win this brawl.”
     “Yeah?” Franks' breath whistled through his nose. “He'll win okay if he ain't flattened before the last round.”
     “You don't get it,” Gurney said patiently; “you're throwin' the fight.”
     Franks stood very still. “Like hell I don't get it,” he said. “Who said?”
     Dillon said quietly from the door, “I said so.”
     Franks turned his head; he looked at Dillon slowly up and down. “Who're you?” he said. “You're nuts. You two'd better get outta here before I toss you out.”
     There was a pause, then Dillon said, “You're goin' to run into a lotta grief if you don't take a dive.”
     Franks went a little pale. “Okay, you two rats; here it comes.” He jerked aside the table. Gurney scrambled to his feet, his face white. Beth gave a sudden short scream as the big Colt sprang into Dillon's hand. Franks saw it. It stopped him just like he had banged his face against a brick wall. “Hey!” he said.
     “That's it,” Dillon said viciously. “Don't start anything; you'll have a second navel if you do.”
     Beth put her hand on Franks' arm. “Don't let him shoot you, Harry!... Don't let him shoot you!”
     Dillon crouched a little by the door. His face was drawn, his lips just off his teeth. “I'll give it to you, sucker,” he said; “just one move outta you an' you get it.”
     Franks was scared of the gun. He'd never run into a gunman before. It unsettled him. “Are you bugs?” he said, keeping his voice steady. “You can't do