were strangely bright, even for her, and she had a manner of repressed
excitement, Her face was almost colorless.

"Here's some more in the Avalanche about our adventure near Gimlet
Butte," she told him, waving the paper.

"Nothing like keeping in the public eye," said Steve, grinning. "I
don't reckon our little picnic at Bald Knob is likely to get in the
Avalanche, though. It probably hasn't any correspondent at Lost
Valley. Anyhow, I'm hoping not."

"Mr. Fraser, there is something in this paper I want you to explain.
But tell me first when it was you shot this man Faulkner. I mean at
just what time in the fight."

"Why, I reckon it must have been just before I ducked."

"That's funny, too." She fixed her direct, fearless gaze on him. "The
evidence at the coroner's jury shows that it was in the early part of
the fight he was shot, before father and I left you."

"No, that couldn't have been, Miss Arlie, because----"

"Because----" she prompted, smiling at him in a peculiar manner.

He flushed, and could only say that the newspapers were always getting
things wrong.

"But this is the evidence at the coroner's inquest," she said, falling
grave again on the instant. "I understand one thing now, very clearly,