too shaken and ill to attempt the journey back to Tralee, and how they
had camped where they were, near the dead horse.

As Orlando talked, the old man was seized by terrible hatred and
jealousy. "You needn't tell me the rest," he broke in, his hands
savagely opening and shutting. "I guess I understand everything."

The words had scarcely left his mouth when from the wagon a man said:
"Wait--wait, Mister. I got something to say."

He sprang to the ground, and ran between Mazarine and Orlando.

"This is where I come in," he said, as Louise's face appeared at an upper
window, and she listened. "You don't know me. Well, I know you.
Everybody knows you, and nobody likes you. I know what happened last
night. I'm a brother of your fellow Christian Rigby, the druggist, over
there in Askatoon. He's a Methodist. I'm not. I'm only good. I been a
lot o' things, and nothing in the end. Well, you hearken to my tale.

"I was tramping with my bundle on my back acrost the prairie to Askatoon
from Waterway. I'm a sundowner, as they say in Australia. When the sun
goes down, I down to my bed wherever I be on the prairie. I was asleep-
I'd been half drunk--when the chestnut threw your wife and broke its leg;
but I was awake when he rode up." He pointed to Orlando. "I was awake,
and so I watched. I knew who she was; I knew who he was." He pointed to
Orlando again. "I guessed I'd see something. I did.

"I watched them two people all night. There was a moon. I could see.
I wasn't fifteen feet from her all night, and I jined the others when
they come to rescue. I guess I got the truth, and I guess if you want