nt--a course which, again,
he knows to be wise. Apparently Red Fields notices nothing. He rides on.
But he has yet to pass through town, to be accosted here, there, at the
Eagle, the post-office, to be forced, perhaps, under peril of his
refusal being scanned, to get down from his horse, answer questions,
drink and talk with acquaintances. He is torn, dishevelled. There is
blood upon his sleeve. What does he think as he rides from Red Fields?
He thinks, 'Where can I best put myself in order, and remove this
witness?' That would be his thought, and he would have the answer ready.
He rode on to the edge of town, and there he stopped at Tom Mocket's."

Major Edward left the window. As he passed his brother, he laid for a
moment his hand upon the elder's shoulder. The touch was protective,
almost tender. "It's a rough wind, Dick! Bow your head and let it go
over." He marched away, dragged a chair to the table, and sat down.
"Very well," he said. "He stopped at Tom Mocket's."

"Yes, but not merely at the gate, as he testified. He went into the
house, and there he washed the blood-stain from his sleeve."

"Can you prove that?"

"I can prove that he went into the house. A negro, running from the
storm, saw him enter. When that girl--Vinie Mocket--is put upon the
stand, I expect to prove the remainder. Now, the pistol--"

Colonel Dick rose, walked heavily to the glass door, then back to the
hearth. "You stand there, as I have seen your father stand. Well, go on!
We are men, Edward and I."

"His pistols are handsome ones, the gift of Mr. Jefferson. The
murderer's name is engraved upon them. He has made, since September, a
number of journeys, and he travels always with holsters to his saddle.
Well, not long ago, I bribed the hostler of a tavern where I knew he was
to sleep. I have seen the arms he carries. Two holsters, two
pistols--but the latter do not match! A different maker, a heavier
weight, and the owner's name but indifferently etched. And yet there is
in Richmond a man who will swear to Mr. Rand's leaving town with the
President's gift intact! The inference is, I think, that somewhere
between Indian Run and Roselands the weapon vanished--how and when and
where I have yet to find. I expect to recover it, and in the mean time I
expect to force an explanation of those mismatched pistols."

He had been standing without motion--manner, voice, and attitude
restrained and somewhat formal. He now moved, took his hand from