gford was leaning forward in his chair, a scared, wild expression in
his eyes, his teeth and hands clenched in an effort to control his
emotions.

"It's a lie!" he shouted. "I didn't kill him! Ned Keegles----"

"Wait!" Dakota rose from his chair and walked to a shelf, from which he
took a box, returning to Langford's side and opening it. He drew out a
knife, shoving it before Langford's eyes and pointing out some rust spots
on the blade.

"This knife was given to me by Ned Keegles," he said slowly. "These rust
spots on the blade are from his father's blood. Look at them!" he said
sharply, for Langford had turned his head.

At the command he swung around, his gaze resting on the knife. "That's a
pretty story," he sneered.

Dakota's laugh when he returned the knife to the box chilled Sheila as
that same laugh had chilled her when she had heard it during her first
night in the country--in this same cabin, with Dakota sitting at the
table--a bitter, mocking laugh that had in it a savagery controlled by an
iron will. He turned abruptly and walked to his chair, seating himself.

"Yes," he said, "it's a pretty story. But it hasn't all been told. With a
besmirched name and the thoughts which were with him all the time, life
wasn't exactly a joyful one for Ned Keegles. He was young, you see, and it
all preyed on his mind. But after a while it hardened him. He'd hit town
with the rest of the boys, and he'd drink whiskey until he'd forget. But
he couldn't forget long. He kept seeing his father and Langford; nights
he'd start from his blankets, living over and over again the incident of
the murder. He got so he couldn't stay in Dakota. He came down here and
tried to forget. It was just the same--there was no forgetfulness.

"One night when he was on the trail near here, he met a woman. It was
raining and the woman had lost the trail. He took the woman in. She
interested him, and he questioned her. He discovered that she was the
daughter of the man who had murdered his father--the daughter of David
Dowd Langford!"

Langford cringed and looked at Sheila, who was looking straight at Dakota,
her eyes alight with knowledge.

"Ned Keegles kept his silence, as he had kept it for ten years," resumed
Dakota. "But the coming of the woman brought back the bitter memories, and
while the woman slept in his cabin he turned to the whiskey bottle for
comfort. As he drank his troubles danced before him--magnified. He thought
it would be a