ce which for ten seconds Clayton's
twitching lips hesitated to break. When spoken answer came it was broken
down into a whisper.

"I ... I wasn't goin' to hurt anybody, Buck. Hones' to Gawd, I wasn't.
An' then, then I got hold his gun, an' I seen he was goin' to fight for
it, an' I ... I _had_ to shoot! I didn't go to kill him, Buck! An' he
shot me firs' with the other gun ... you oughta see them holes in my
side!... an'...." He stopped abruptly, and then, a little defiance
sweeping up into his eyes, rushing into his voice, he ended sulkily,
"The son of a ---- had it comin' to him!"

For a long time Buck Thornton, sunk into a deep, thoughtful silence,
said nothing. Jimmie's account of an adventure of this kind was sure to
be garbled; considering it in an attempt to get to the truth at the
bottom of it was an occupation comparable to that of staring down into
muddy water in search of a hidden white pebble. He knew Jimmie Clayton.
He knew him as perhaps Clayton did not know himself. The man had been
sent to state's prison, not because of the company he kept, but because,
in Jimmie's own words, "he had it comin'." He had known long ago that
Jimmie Clayton would end this way, or worse. Now Clayton was giving his
own version of the killing of the guard, and this version would probably
be a lie. But through all of these considerations which Thornton saw so
clearly there was something else; something seen as clearly, looming
high and distinct above them: Jimmie had played the part of friend when
but for a friend Thornton would have died. That counted with Buck
Thornton. And now Clayton had sent for him, had entrusted into his hands
all hope of safety. And he was not this man's judge.

While the cowboy sat silent and thoughtful Jimmie Clayton was watching
him, watching him with anxiety brilliant in his eyes, his tongue
moistening, constantly moistening the lips which went dry and parched
and cracked. Thornton knew, without lifting his eyes from the pool of
shadow quivering at the base of the candle stub.

"You ain't goin' back on me, Buck!" The wounded man had drawn himself up
on his elbow. "I'll leave it to you, Buck, if I didn't stick by you when
you was in trouble. Remember, Buck, when I found you, out on the trail
between Juarez and El Paso. And you don't care a damn about the reward,
Buck; you said so, didn't you?"

"Jimmie," said Thornton slowly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet
both the pleading and the terro