forced into
outlawry. I've never had a chance to leave the country. I've killed
men to save my own life. I never intentionally harmed any woman. I rode
thirty miles to-day--deliberately to see what this reward was, who made
it, what for. When I read the placard I went sick to the bottom of
my soul. So I rode in here to find you--to tell you this: I never saw
Shirley before to-day. It was impossible for me to have--killed your
wife. Last September I was two hundred miles north of here on the upper
Nueces. I can prove that. Men who know me will tell you I couldn't
murder a woman. I haven't any idea why such a deed should be laid at my
hands. It's just that wild border gossip. I have no idea what reasons
you have for holding me responsible. I only know--you're wrong. You've
been deceived. And see here, Aiken. You understand I'm a miserable man.
I'm about broken, I guess. I don't care any more for life, for anything.
If you can't look me in the eyes, man to man, and believe what I
say--why, by God! you can kill me!"

Aiken heaved a great breath.

"Buck Duane, whether I'm impressed or not by what you say needn't
matter. You've had accusers, justly or unjustly, as will soon appear.
The thing is we can prove you innocent or guilty. My girl Lucy saw my
wife's assailant."

He motioned for the crowd of men to open up.

"Somebody--you, Sibert--go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing."

Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of
voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he
did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which
might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child.

The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image
of a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly.
Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid.
Then he fetched her closer to Duane.

"Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?" asked Aiken, huskily
and low. "Is he the one--who came in the house that day--struck you
down--and dragged mama--?"

Aiken's voice failed.

A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale,
sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible
moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence--of suspense.

"It's ain't him!" cried the child.

Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the
bond