e
three hundred dollars, and he or his friends thought I was going to
leave without settling. He sent me a note saying he wished to see me.
It was midnight before I could go down. He had left the office, but
hailed me from the window of Craney's shack. We met near the ford, had
words, and I struck him--struck him twice, knocking him down, and then
his friends, or followers, as I supposed, pitched upon me. I surely saw
one Indian, and, knowing 'Tonio's--grievance, and being warned against
him, that was the last idea I had, as I was knocked senseless. Mr.
Sheriff, I refuse to enter any complaint against Mr. Case. He
is--entirely blameless."

"That seems to let _you_ out, Case," said the sheriff sententiously,
but the bookkeeper never raised his head.

"Is there anything else I can say--or do?" asked Willett, holding his
natty forage-cap at the side of his head. "It should be done now,
for--I am to leave here--to-night."

It was then Case's turn. In an instant he was on his feet.

"Going?" he demanded, a strange, hungry look in his eyes. "I'm not yet
free, and I've got to speak with you."

"There is no need," said Willett gravely. "I _know_."

"You mean?--you heard----?"

"My letters have told me--everything," was the quiet answer.

"And you are going?"

"Back to Portland--and to----"

With that he would have turned, but Case sprang forward. There was
perceptible start among the lookers-on. It might mean another attempt.
The sheriff seized him, but Case, with feverish strength, shook himself
loose, and Willett turned back, faced him, and waited for him to speak.
It was a moment before Case could find breath, then came the words:

"My God, man! Will you give me your word--your hand--on that?"

For all answer Willett drew off the dainty glove of white lisle thread,
took the outstretched hand of Case, wrung it, and turned in silence
from the room.

There were men who mounted and rode with him a mile or more that night,
and came back silent and sorrowing, yet thinking better of Hal Willett
than any of their number had ever thought before.

"He has gone to do the one square thing that's left him," said Old
Stannard, as the buckboard whirled away, "and his resignation goes with
him."

L'ENVOI.

That was many a long year ago, and for many a month thereafter men and
women at Whipple and Sandy, McDowell and Almy would talk for hours
about Willett, his strange character, his broken career. It was not
long bef