But he did not respond. Possibly there were points of honor which this
horse-thief felt vaguely with her father. "Listen," he said grimly.
"Others think it was your father killed him. When _I_ did it--for
he fired at me first--I ran to the corral again and took my hoss,
thinkin' I might be follered. I made a clear circuit of the house,
and when I found he was the only one, and no one was follerin', I come
back here and took off my disguise. Then I heard his friends find him
in the wood, and I know they suspected your father. And then another
man come through the woods while I was hidin' and found the clothes
and took them away." He stopped and stared at her gloomily.

But all this was unintelligible to the girl. "Dad would have got
the better of him ef you hadn't," she said eagerly, "so what's the
difference?"

"All the same," he said gloomily, "I must take his place."

She did not understand, but turned her head to her master. "Then
you'll go back with me and tell him _all_?" she said obediently.

"Yes," he said.

She put her hand in his, and they crept out of the wood together. She
foresaw a thousand difficulties, but, chiefest of all, that he did not
love as she did. _She_ would not have taken these risks against their
happiness.

But alas for ethics and heroism. As they were issuing from the wood
they heard the sound of galloping hoofs, and had barely time to
hide themselves before Madison Clay, on the stolen horse of Judge