n't ever have been drawn into it. It's nothing of my concern;
certainly, I shouldn't be the one to be called upon to judge the
innocence or guilt of some one I hardly know! I--"

"I realize that, Miss Robinette. I withdraw my request for anything
you can give me." Again he started toward the door, and this time
Ba'tiste did not detain him. But abruptly he halted, a sudden thought
searing its way through his brain. "Just one moment more, Miss
Robinette. Then I'll go. But this question means a great deal. You
passed me one night on the road. Would it be impertinent to ask where
you had been?"

"Certainly not. To Tabernacle. Lost Wing went with me, as usual. You
may ask him."

"Your word is enough. May I inquire if on that night you saw Fred
Thayer?"

"I did not."

"Thank you." Dully he reached for the knob. The woman who had
appeared that night in the clearing, her head upon a man's shoulder,
had been Agnes Jierdon!

He stepped to the veranda, waiting for Ba'tiste, who was making a last
effort in his behalf. Then he called:

"I'd rather you'd not say anything more, Ba'tiste. Words aren't much
use--without something to back them up."

And he knew that this possibility was all but gone. Tricked! For now
he realized that Agnes Jierdon had stood by him at a time when her
supposed confidence and trust could do no more for him than cheer him
and cause him to trust her to the end that,--what?

Had it been she who had slipped the necessary papers of the contract
and the lease into the mass of formalities which he had signed without
even looking at the contents of more than the first page or two of the
pile? They had been so many technical details, merely there for
signature; he had signed dozens before. It would have been easy.

But Houston forced back the thought. He himself knew what it meant to
be unjustly accused. Time was but of little moment now; his theories
could wait until he had seen Agnes Jierdon, until he had talked to her
and questioned her regarding the statements made to Medaine Robinette.
Besides, Ba'tiste already was in the buggy, striving to cover his
feelings by a stream of badinage directed toward Golemar, the wolf-dog,
and waiting for Houston to take his place beside him. A moment more
and they were driving away, Ba'tiste humped over the reins as usual,
Houston striving to put from him the agony of the new accusation.
Finally, the trapper cocked his head and spoke, rather