details, and he awoke to a full realization of his condition, of the
forces he must war against. The actual murderers of those two men on the
trail had had their suspicions aroused by his actions; they believed he
guessed something of their foul deed, and had determined to clear
themselves by charging the crime directly against him. It was a shrewd
trick, and if they only stuck to their story, ought to succeed. He had no
evidence, other than his own word, and the marshal had already taken from
his pockets the papers belonging to the slain man. He had not found the
locket hidden under his shirt, yet a more thorough search would doubtless
reveal that also.

Even should the case come to trial, how would it be possible for him to
establish innocence, and--_would it ever come to trial?_ Keith knew
the character of the frontier, and of Carson City. The inclination of its
citizens in such cases was to act first, and reflect later. The law had
but slender hold, being respected only when backed by the strong hand, and
primitive instincts were always in the ascendency, requiring merely a
leader to break forth into open violence. And in this case would there be
any lack of leadership? Like a flash his mind reverted to "Black Bart."
There was the man capable of inciting a mob. If, for some unknown reason,
he had sufficient interest to swear out the warrant and assist in the
arrest, he would have equal cause to serve those fellows behind him in
other ways. Naturally, they would dread a trial, with its possibility of
exposure, and eagerly grasp any opportunity for wiping the slate clean.
Their real security from discovery undoubtedly lay in his death, and with
the "Red Light" crowd behind them they would experience no trouble in
getting a following desperate enough for any purpose.

The longer Keith thought the less he doubted the result. It was not then a
problem of defence, but of escape, for he believed now that no opportunity