I'd killed 'im. With that Euola she gives me one look--white ez paper she
was--an' she says, 'Run, Andy honey. I'll git to ye when I kin.'" The
mountain-man was silent so long that Kerry thought he was done. But he
suddenly said:

"She ketched my sleeve, jest ez I made to start, an' said: 'I'll come,
Andy. Mind, Andy, _I'll come to ye, ef I live_.'" Then there was the
silence of sympathy between the two men.

So that was the history of the crime--a very different history from the
one Kerry had heard.

"Hit's right tetchy business--er has been--a-tryin' to take Andy
Proudfoot," the outlaw continued; "but, Dan, I'd got mighty tired, time you
come. An' Euola--"

Kerry rose abruptly, the memory hot within him of Proudfoot's offer of the
night before. The mountaineer got slowly to his feet.

"They's somethin' I wanted to show ye, too, ye remember," he said. They
walked together down the bluff, to where another little cavern, low and
shallow, hid itself behind huckleberry-bushes. "I kep' the money here,"
Proudfoot said, kneeling in the cramped entrance and delving among the
rocks. He drew out a roll of bills and fingered them thoughtfully.

"The reward, now, hit was fifteen hundred dollars--with what the State an'
company both give, warn't it? Dan, I was mighty proud ye wouldn't have
it--I wanted to give it to ye this-a-way. I don't know as I've got any
rights on Euola's money. I reckon I mought ax you fer to take it to her, ef
so be you could find her. My half--you kin have it, an' welcome."