e's been crooked
work on Isbel's side, too. An' I never want it on record thet I killed
Jorth because he was a rustler."

"By God, Blue! it's late in the day for such talk," burst out
Blaisdell, in rage and amaze. "But I reckon y'u know what y'u're
talkin' aboot.... Wal, I shore don't want to heah it."

At this juncture Bill Isbel quietly entered the cabin, too late to hear
any of Blue's statement. Jean was positive of that, for as Blue was
speaking those last revealing words Bill's heavy boots had resounded on
the gravel path outside. Yet something in Bill's look or in the way
Blue averted his lean face or in the entrance of Bill at that
particular moment, or all these together, seemed to Jean to add further
mystery to the long secret causes leading up to the Jorth-Isbel war.
Did Bill know what Blue knew? Jean had an inkling that he did. And on
the moment, so perplexing and bitter, Jean gazed out the door, down the
deserted road to where his dead father lay, white-haired and ghastly in
the sunlight.

"Blue, you could have kept that to yourself, as well as your real
name," interposed Jean, with bitterness. "It's too late now for either
to do any good.... But I appreciate your friendship for dad, an' I'm
ready to help carry out your plan."

That decision of Jean's appeared to put an end to protest or argument
from Blaisdell or any of the others. Blue's fleeting dark smile was
one of satisfaction. Then upon most of this group of men seemed to
settle a grim restraint. They went out and walked and watched; they
came in again, restless and somber. Jean thought that he must have
bent his gaze a thousand times down the road to the tragic figure of
his father. That sight roused all emotions in his breast, and the one
that stirred there most was pity. The pity of it! Gaston Isbel lying
face down in the dust of the village street! Patches of blood showed
on the back of his vest and one white-sleeved shoulder. He had been
shot through. Every time Jean saw this blood he had to stifle a
gathering of wild, savage impulses.

Meanwhile the afternoon hours dragged by and the village remained as if
its inhabitants had abandoned it. Not even a dog showed on the side
road. Jorth and some of his men came out in front of the store and sat
on the steps, in close convening groups. Every move they, made seemed
significant of their confidence and importance. About sunset they went
back into the store, closing door and