Marlin City was a sorry-looking place in the gray dawn. One whole side of the main street was a smouldering mass of ruins, while the buildings on the opposite side were badly scorched and warped from the extreme heat. The street was like an ash-heap, and strewn with everything that was possible to salvage from the doomed buildings.
Silent Slade, his face covered with strips of plaster, poked moodily among the blackened ruins of the sheriff’s office, hoping against hope that he would not find anything resembling human remains. A number of men wandered about the street, talking about the fire, and Slade noticed that some of them were from Silverton.
Ike Welden sat on the sidewalk in front of the Dollar Down, and Silent scowled at him. He blamed Ike for the loss of his horse and wondered ho
