he Lawd 'fore ye done it," she said, with a repellent
impulse; then she would have given much to recall the reproach. The man
was desperate; his safety lay in her silence. A pistol-shot would secure
it, and anger would limber the trigger.

But he did not seem indignant. His eyes, intelligent and feverishly
bright, gazed down at her only in obvious dismay and surprise. "Done
what?" he asked, and as, prudence prevailing for once, she did not
reply, he spoke for her. "The murder, ye mean? Why, gal, I warn't even
thar. I knowed nuthin' 'bout it till later. Ez God is my helper and my
hope, I warn't even thar."

She stood astounded. "Then why n't ye leave it ter men?"

"I can't _prove_ it ag'in' the murderers' oaths. I had been consarned in
the moon-shinin' that ended in murder, but _I_ hed not been nigh the
still fer a month,--I war out a-huntin'--when the revenuers made the
raid. There war a scrimmage 'twixt the raiders an' the distillers, an'
an outsider that hed nuthin' ter do with the Federal law--he war the
constable o' the deestrick, an' jes rid with the gang ter see the fun or
ter show them the way--he war killed. An' account o' _him_, the State
law kem into the game. Them other moonshiners war captured, an' they
swore ag'in' me 'bout the shootin' ter save tharselves, but I hearn thar
false oaths hev done them no good, they being held as accessory. An' I
be so ez I can't prove an alibi--I can't _prove_ it, though it's God's
truth. But before high heaven"--he lifted his gaunt right hand--"I am
innercent, I am innercent."

She could not have said why,--perhaps she realized afterward,--but she
believed him absolutely, implicitly. A fervor of sympathy for his
plight, of commiseration, surged up in her heart. "I wisht it war so I
could gin ye some pervisions," she sighed, "though ye do 'pear toler'ble
triflin' ter lack game."

Then the dread secret was told. "Gal,"--he used the word as a polite
form of address, the equivalent of the more sophisticated "lady,"--"ef
ye will believe me, all my ammunition is spent. Not a ca'tridge lef',
not a dust of powder."

Meddy caught both her hands to her lips to intercept and smother a cry
of dismay.

"I snared a rabbit two days ago in a dead-fall. My knife-blade is bruk,
but I reckon thar is enough lef' ter split my jugular whenst the eend is
kem at last."

The girl suddenly caught her faculties together. "What sorter fool talk
is that?" she demanded sternly. "Ye do my bid, e