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He could not tell why he did it, any more than he could tell why

he had attempted no denial to the sheriff of responsibility for

the death of Faulkner, but as he looked at this girl he shifted

the burden from her shoulders to his. "You got your man in the

ankle. I had worse luck after you left. They buried mine."

"Oh!" From her lips a little cry of pain forced itself. "It

wasn't your fault. It was for us you did it. Oh, why did they

attack us?"

"I did what I had to do. There is no blame due either you or me

for it," he said, with quiet conviction.

"I know. But it seems so dreadful. And then they put you in

jail--and you broke out! Wasn't that it?"

"That was the way of it, Miss Arlie. How did you know?"

"Henry Speed's note to father said you had broken jail. Dad

wasn't at home. You know, the round-up is on now and he has to be

there. So I saddled, and came right away."

"That was right good of you."