dison Clay had stared amazed and bewildered--horror-stricken.
The incidents of the past night for the first time flashed upon him
clearly--hopelessly! The shot; his finding Salomy Jane alone in
the woods; her confusion and anxiety to rid herself of him; the
disappearance of the shotgun; and now this new discovery of the taking
of his hat and coat for a disguise! SHE had killed Phil Larrabee in that
disguise, after provoking his first harmless shot! She, his own child,
Salomy Jane, had disgraced herself by a man's crime; had disgraced him
by usurping his right, and taking a mean advantage, by deceit, of a foe!

"Gimme that gun," he said hoarsely.

Breckenridge handed him the gun in wonder and slowly gathering
suspicion. Madison examined nipple and muzzle; one barrel had been
discharged. It was true! The gun dropped from his hand.

"Look here, old man," said Breckenridge, with a darkening face, "there's
bin no foul play here. Thar's bin no hiring of men, no deputy to do this
job. YOU did it fair and square--yourself?"

"Yes, by God!" burst out Madison Clay in a hoarse voice. "Who says I
didn't?"

Reassured, yet believing that Madison Clay had nerved himself for
the act by an over-draught of whiskey, which had affected his memory,
Breckenridge said curtly, "Then wake up and 'lite' out, ef ye want me to
stand by you."

"Go to the corral and pick me out a hoss," said Madison slowly, yet not
without a certain dignity of manner. "I've suthin' to say to Salomy
Jane afore I go." He was holding her scribbled note, which he had just
discovered, in his shaking hand.

Struck by his kinsman's manner, and knowing the dependent relations
of father and daughter, Breckenridge nodded and hurried away. Left to
himself, Madison Clay ran his fingers through his hair, and straightened
out the paper on which Salomy Jane had scrawled her note, turned it
over, and wrote on the back:--

You might have told me you did it, and not leave your ole father to
find it out how you disgraced yourself and him, too, by a low-down,
underhanded, woman's trick! I've said I done it, and took the blame
myself, and all the sneakiness of it that folks suspect. If I get away
alive--and I don't care much which--you needn't foller. The house and
stock are yours; but you ain't any longer the daughter of your disgraced
father,

MADISON CLAY.

He had scarcely finished the note when, with a clatter of hoofs and a
led horse, Breckenridge reappeared at the