eady an air of
depression, foretaste of what was to come. The trail was filled with
hoofprints, and cut deep with the wagon that had borne the dead man to
town and to an unwept burial. At the gate he met Carl Douglas, riding
with his head sunk deep on his chest. Lite would have avoided that
meeting if he could have done so unobtrusively, but as it was, he
pulled up and waited while Carl opened the wire gate and dragged it to
one side. From the look of his face, Carl also would have avoided the
meeting, if he could have done so. He glanced up as Lite passed
through.

"Hell of a verdict," Lite made brief comment when he met Carl's eyes.

Carl stopped, leaning against his horse with one hand thrown up to the
saddle-horn. He was a small man, not at all like Aleck in size or in
features. He looked haggard now and white.

"What do you make of it?" he asked Lite. "Do you believe--?"

"Of course I don't! Great question for a brother to ask," Lite
retorted sharply. "It's not in Aleck to do a thing like that."

"What made you say you saw him ride home? You didn't, did you?"

"You heard what I said; take it or leave it." Lite scowled down at
Carl. "What was there queer about it? Why--"

"If you'd been inside ten minutes before then," Carl told him bluntly,
"you'd have heard Aleck say he came home a full hour or more before you
say you saw him ride in. That's what's queer. What made you do that?
It won't help Aleck none."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Lite slouched miserably in
the saddle, and eyed the other without really seeing him at all. "They
can't prove anything on Aleck," he added with faint hope.

"I don't see myself how they can." Carl brightened perceptibly. "His
being alone all day is bad; he can't furnish the alibi you can furnish.
But they can't prove anything. They'll turn him loose, the grand jury
will; they'll have to. They can't indict him on the evidence. They
haven't got any evidence,--not any more than just the fact that he rode
in with the news. No need to worry; he'll be turned loose in a few
days." He picked up the gate, dragged it after him as he went through,
and fumbled the wire loop into place over the post. "I wish," he said
when he had mounted with the gate between them, "you hadn't been so
particular to say you saw him ride home about the same time you did.
That looks bad, Lite."

"Bad for who?" Lite turned in the saddle aggressively.

"Looks bad all a