e guide, was plainly very uneasy, and made several attempts to
reach Cavanagh's private ear, and at last succeeded. "I've been fooled
into this," he urged. "I was hard up and a stranger in the country, and
this young fellow hired me to guide him across the range. I didn't shoot a
thing. I swear I didn't. If you'll let me off, I'll hit the trail to the
West and never look back. For God's sake, don't take me down the road! Let
me off."

"I can't do that," replied Cavanagh; but his tone was kindlier, for he
perceived that the old fellow was thin, hollow-chested, and poorly clad.
"You knew you were breaking the laws, didn't you?"

This the culprit admitted. "But I was working for Sam Gregg, and when Joe
asked me to go show him the trail, I didn't expect to get cinched for
killing game. I didn't fire a shot--now that's the God's truth."

"Nevertheless," retorted Ross, "you were packing the head, and I must
count you in the game."

Edwards fell silent then, but something in his look deepened the ranger's
pity. His eyes were large and dark, and his face so emaciated that he
seemed fit only for a sanitarium.

The trip to the Fork (timed to the gait of a lazy pack-horse) was a
tedious eight hours' march, and it was nearly seven o'clock when they
arrived at the outskirts of the village. There had been very few words
spoken by Cavanagh, and those which the prisoners uttered were not
calculated to cheer the way. Joe blamed his guide for their mishap. "You
should have known how far the sound of our guns would carry," he said.

As they were nearing the village he called out: "See here, Cavanagh,
there's no use taking me through town under arrest. I'll cough up all we
got right now. How much is the damage?"

"I can't receive your fine," replied Ross, "and, besides, you took your
chances when you shot that sheep. You lost out, and I'm not going to let
you off. This poaching must stop. You go right along with your guide."

Again Edwards drew near, and pled in a low voice: "See here, Mr. Ranger, I
have special reasons why I don't want to go into this town under arrest. I
wish you'd let me explain."

There was deep emotion in his voice, but Ross was firm. "I'm sorry for
you," he said, "but my duty requires me to take you before a
magistrate--"

"But you don't know my case," he replied, with bitter intensity. "I'm out
'on parole.' I can't afford to be arrested in this way. Don't you see?"

Ross looked at him closely. "_Are_ you