fairness and open fighting. Hardly had he drawn a second breath when
Billy realized why this man had not killed him when he had the chance.
Deane was not of the sort to strike in the dark or from behind. He had
let Billy live because he still believed in the manhood of man, and
the thought that he had repaid Deane's faith in him by leaping upon
him when he was down and wounded filled Billy with a bitter shame. He
gripped one of Deane's hands in his own.

"I hate to do this, old man," he cried, quickly. "It's hell to put
those things on a man who's hurt. But I've got to do it. I didn't mean
to come-- no, s'elp me God, I didn't-- if Bucky Smith and two others
hadn't hit your trail back at the old camp. They'd have got you--
sure. And she wouldn't have been safe with them. Understand ? She
wouldn't have been safe! So I made up my mind to beat on ahead and
take you myself. I want you to understand. And you do know, I guess.
You must have heard, for I thought you were sure-enough dead in the
box, an' I swear to Heaven I meant all I said then. I wouldn't have
come. I was glad you two got away. But this Bucky is a skunk and a
scoundrel-- and mebbe if I take you-- I can help you-- later on.
They'll be here in a few minutes."

He spoke quickly, his voice quivering with the emotion that inspired
his words, and not for an instant did Scottie Deane allow his eyes to
shift from Billy's face. When Billy stopped he still looked at him for
a moment, judging the truth of what he had heard by what he saw in the
other's face. And then Billy felt his hand tighten for an instant
about his own.

"I guess you're pretty square, MacVeigh," he said, "and I guess it had
to come pretty soon, too. I'm not sorry that it's you-- and I know