only to the truth. I quite
agree with my learned friend"--another graceful bow--"that the case he
has so ably presented is so strong that it can successfully be rebutted
only by an alibi so clear and so incontestable, as my learned friend has
so aptly phrased it, as to convince if not satisfy ... my bitterest
enemy!" The bow, the subtle, icy intonation, edged the words. The
courtroom thrilled again at the unspoken thought: "_An enemy hath done
this thing!_" If, in the stillness, the prisoner had quoted the words
aloud in fierce denunciation, the effect could not have been different
or more startling. "And that, Your Honor, is precisely what I propose to
do!"

His Honor was puzzled. He was a good judge of men; and the prisoner's
face was not a bad face.

"But," he objected, "you have refused to call any witnesses for the
defense. Your unsupported word will count for nothing. You cannot prove
an alibi alone."

"Can't I?" said Jeff. "Watch me!"

With a single motion he was through the open window. Bending branches of
the nearest cottonwood broke his fall--the other trees hid his flight.

Behind him rose uproar, tumult and hullabaloo, a mass of struggling men
at cross purposes. Gun in hand, the sheriff, stumbling over some one's
foot--Monte's--ran to the window; but the faithful deputy was before
him, blocking the way, firing with loving care--at one particular
tree-trunk. He was a good shot, Jimmy. He afterward showed with pride
where each ball had struck in a scant six-inch space. Vainly the sheriff
tried to force his way through. There was but one stairway, and it was
jammed. Before the foremost pursuer had reached the open Jeff had
borrowed one of the saddled horses hitched at the rack and was away to
the hills.

As Billy struggled through the press, searching for Ellinor, he found
himself at Jimmy's elbow.

"A dead game sport--any turn in the road!" agreed Billy.

The deputy nodded curtly; but his answer was inconsequent:

"Rather in the brunette line--that bit of tangible evidence!"

CHAPTER XI

THE NETTLE, DANGER

"Bushel o' wheat, bushel o' rye--
All 'at ain't ready, holler 'I'!"

--_Hide and Seek._

Double Mountain lies lost in the desert, dwarfed by the greatness all
about. Its form is that of a crater split from north to south into
irregular halves. Through that narrow cleft ran a straight road, once
the well-traveled thoroughfare from Rainbow to El P