was wise enough to see
that for him and Bud to accuse their accusers might re-act back on
themselves. Fortunately the questions of the alcalde led directly to it.

"You testify," began the alcalde, the moment Thure had apparently
completed his testimony, "that you drove the murderers away from the
body of the miner. Did you get near enough to them to recognize them
again, should you see them?"

"No," Thure answered. "I could only swear that one was a large man and
that the other was small."

"Did you discover anything that would lead you to surmise who committed
the crime?" again asked the alcalde.

"No, not directly," answered Thure hesitatingly. "But the old miner,
just before he died, gave us a description of his two murderers," and he
stopped.

"How did he describe them? Why do you hesitate?" asked the alcalde
sharply.

"Because," answered Thure boldly, "the description the dying miner gave
of his two murderers appears to make us accuse our accusers, as if we
were trying to get back at them, when it is God's truth that we are
uttering."

"Give us the description. We are the ones to judge of its merits,"
commanded the alcalde, his face flushing with interest, while the
surrounding crowd became breathless.

Bud was looking at the two men; and he saw both of them start at the
words of Thure and glance apprehensively into each other's eyes.

"The miner said," and Thure turned his eyes full upon Bill Ugger, "that
one of his murderers was a large, red-headed man with a broken nose; and
that the other," and his eyes turned to the face of Spike Quinley, "was
a small man, with a pock-marked face."

For a moment no one spoke. All eyes were bent on the faces of the two
men. There was no mistaking to whom the description applied. Then a
harsh laugh broke from Bill Ugger.

"Tryin' to turn th' tables on us, be you?" and again he laughed. "Wal, I
reckon, ever'one here believes that yarn. It fits tew pat, not tew be
true. So me an' Spike are th' true murderers, be we? Wal, this is sum
unexpected an' s'prisin', ain't it Spike?" and he turned to his comrade,
grinning and glaring like a huge buffoon; but a close observer might
have noticed that his skin had whitened beneath its red beard.

Quinley had started perceptibly at Thure's description of the miner's
murderers, but he had quickly controlled himself, and a deadly gleam had
come into his wicked little eyes and his thin lips had tightened, as,
unperceived by all