tay."

"You'll not stay," he contradicted her bluntly. "You can't. It
wouldn't be right." And he added self-reproachfully: "I never thought
of your cutting across the bench and riding down the trail back of the
house. I meant to head you off--"

"It's shorter," said Jean briefly. "I--if I can't stay, I'd rather go
to town, Lite. I don't like to stay over at Uncle Carl's."

Therefore, when they reached the mouth of the coulee, Lite turned into
the trail that led to town. All down the coulee the trail had been dug
deep with the hoofprints of a galloping horse; and now, on the town
trail, they were as plain as a primer to one schooled in the open. But
Jean was too upset to notice them, and for that Lite was thankful.
They did not talk much, beyond the commonplace speculations which
tragedy always brings to the lips of the bystanders. Comments that
were perfectly obvious they made, it is true. Jean said it was
perfectly awful, and Lite agreed with her. Jean wondered how it could
have happened, and Lite said he didn't know. Neither of them said
anything about the effect it would have upon their future; I don't
suppose that Jean, at least, could remotely guess at the effect. It is
certain that Lite preferred not to do so.

They were no more than half way to town when they met a group of
galloping horsemen, their coming heralded for a mile by the dust they
kicked out of the trail.

In the midst rode Jean's father. Alongside him rode the coroner, and
behind him rode the sheriff. The rest of the company was made up of men
who had heard the news and were coming to look upon the tragedy. Lite
drew a long breath of relief. Aleck Douglas, then, had not been
running away.

CHAPTER II

CONCERNING LITE AND A FEW FOOTPRINTS

"Lucky you was with me all day, up to four o'clock, Lite," Jim said.
"That lets you out slick and clean, seeing the doctor claims he'd been
dead six hours when he seen him last night. Crofty--why, Crofty was
laying in there dead when I was talking about him to you! Kinda gives
a man the creeps to think of it. Who do you reckon done it, Lite?"

"How'n hell do _I_ know?" Lite retorted irritably. "I didn't see it
done."

Jim studied awhile, an ear cocked for the signal that the coroner was
ready to begin the inquest. "Say," he leaned over and whispered in
Lite's ear, "where was Aleck at, all day yesterday?"

"Riding over in the bend, looking for black-leg signs," said Lite
promptly.