"I'm damned if I know," returned the marshal, doubtfully. "Don't seem like
ye'd do it, but the evidence is straight 'nough, an' thar ain't nothin'
fer me ter do but take ye in. I ain't no jedge an' jury."

"No, but you ought to have ordinary sense, an' you've known me for three
years."

"Sure I have, Jack, but if yer've gone wrong, you won't be the first good
man I've seen do it. Anyhow, the evidence is dead agin you, an' I'd arrest
my own grand-dad if they give me a warrant agin him."

"What evidence is there?"

"Five men swear they saw ye haulin' the bodies about, and lootin' the
pockets."

Then Keith understood, his heart beating rapidly, his teeth clenched to
keep back an outburst of passion. So that was their game, was it?--some
act of his had awakened the cowardly suspicions of those watching him
across the river. They were afraid that he knew them as white men. And
they had found a way to safely muzzle him. They must have ridden hard over
those sand dunes to have reached Carson City and sworn out this warrant.
It was a good trick, likely enough to hang him, if the fellows only stuck
to their story. All this flashed through his brain, yet somehow he could
not clearly comprehend the full meaning, his mind confused and dazed by
this sudden realization of danger. His eyes wandered from the steady gaze
of the marshal, who had half drawn his gun fearing resistance, to the man
at the bottom of the steps. Suddenly it dawned upon him where he had seen
that dark-skinned face, with the black goatee, before--at the faro table
of the "Red Light." He gripped his hands together, instantly connecting