ight here, on my oath, Jim Thorpe's no cattle-thief, and, as God
is my judge, I know that to be true. Jim Thorpe hasn't an evil thought
in his----"

"Hold on," cried Doc Crombie, excitedly, as the swing doors were
pushed suddenly open. "Here's some one who'll mebbe have a word to say
fer himself. You're jest in time to say a word or two, Jim Thorpe," he
smiled, as the man's pale face appeared in their midst.

"Here he is," cried Smallbones, his wicked eyes sparkling. "Here he
is, fellers. Here is the man I accuse right here of bein' a low-down
cattle-thief. That's your charge, Jim Thorpe. An' don't ferget we hang
cattle----"

"Shut your rotten face, you worm!" cried Jim, contemptuously. He was
standing in the centre of the room. Everybody had made way for him,
and now he confronted a circle of accusing faces. He glanced swiftly
round till his dark eyes rested on the hawk-like visage of the
doctor.

"Say, Will Henderson's dead," he said, in a quiet, solemn voice. "He's
been murdered. He's lying up there on the south side of the eastern
bluff. Guess you'd best send up and--see to him."

His words produced a sudden and deathly silence. Every eye was upon
his pale face in excited, incredulous wonderment. Will Henderson dead?
Their questioning eyes asked plainly for more information, while their
tongues were silent with something like awe. Smallbones reached his
glass from the counter and drank its contents at a gulp, but his eyes
never left Jim's face. His astonishment didn't interfere with the
rapid working of his mean brain. To him Jim looked a sick man. There
was something defiant in the dark eyes. The man, to his swift
imagination, was unduly perturbed. He glanced down at his clothes, and
his eyes fixed themselves greedily upon the fingers of the hand
nearest to him. A flash of triumph shot into his eyes as he heard Doc
Crombie's voice suddenly break the silence.

"How'd it happen? Who did it?" he asked sharply.

Jim's answer came promptly.

"He's up there stabbed to death. Stabbed through the heart. As to who
did it, that's to be found out." He shrugged. His eyes were on the
doctor without shrinking.

But he turned swiftly as Smallbones' harsh tones drew every one's
attention.

"Say, hold up your left hand, Jim Thorpe," he cried gleefully. "Hold
it right up an' tell us what that red is on it. Say, I don't guess
we'll need to puzzle a heap over how Will Henderson come by his
death."

Jim raised his hand.