nce he was so
notoriously blatant and argumentative, no one had taken him seriously
enough to nurse any grudge that would be likely to breed assassination.
It was inconceivable to Lite that any man had trailed Johnny Croft to
the Lazy A and shot him down in the kitchen while he was calmly helping
himself to Jean's gingerbread. Still, he must take that for granted or
else believe what he steadfastly refused to confess even to himself
that he believed.

It was nearly dark when he threw out the last pail of water and stood
looking down dissatisfied at the result of his labor, while he dried
his hands. The stain was still there, in spite of him, just as the
memory of the murder would cling always to the place. He went out and
watered Jean's poppies and sweet peas and pansies, still going over and
over the evidence and trying to fill in the gaps.

He had blundered with his lie that had meant to help. The lie had
proven to every man who heard him utter it that his faith in Aleck's
innocence was not strong; it had proven that he did not trust the
facts. That hurt Lite, and made it seem more than ever his task to
clear up the matter, if he could. If he could not, then he would make
amends in whatever way he might.

Almost as if he were guarding that gruesome room which was empty now
and silent,--since the clock had not been wound and had run down,--he
sat long upon the narrow platform before the kitchen door and smoked
and stared straight before him. Once he thought he saw a man move
cautiously from the corner of the shed where the youngest calf slept
beside its mother, He had been thinking so deeply of other things that
he was not sure, but he went down there, his cigarette glowing in the
gloom, and stood looking and listening.

He neither saw nor heard anything, and presently he went back to the
house; but his abstraction was broken by the fancy, so that he did not
sit down again to smoke and think. He had thought until his brain felt
heavy and stupid; and the last cigarette he lighted; he threw away, for
he had smoked until his tongue was sore. He went in and went to bed.

For a long time he lay awake. Finally he dropped into a sleep so heavy
that it was nearer to a torpor, and it was the sunlight that awoke him;
sunlight that was warm in the room and proved how late the morning was.
He swore in his astonishment and got up hastily, a great deal more
optimistic than when he had lain down, and hurried out to feed