ers.

CHAPTER XXI.

IN THE LOCK-UP.

The marshal unlocked the door of Nate's narrow cell and held his lantern
aloft with a cheery, "Hello! Tierney. Brought you company, you see," and
the prisoner rose slowly from his bunk, blinking and staring in the
light, with an expectant air. It died out quickly, and murmuring in a
broken voice,

"Oh, I thought it might be--evening, Mr. Dalton; evening, Miss," he
looked helplessly around for a chair to offer Joyce.

The sheriff had brought one, which he placed for her, and Dalton braced
himself against the wall, his hands in his pockets, while the officer
sat down sociably beside his prisoner, on the bunk.

"Nate," said George, without preamble, "we don't want to pry into your
affairs, nor trouble you in any way, but if we can help you we will be
glad to--Miss Lavillotte and I. We believe you are man enough to wish to
know the worst, without mincing, whatever it may be, and have come to
tell you all. Your old chum, William Hapgood, is dead. The blow you gave
him in your anger was harder than you meant. It crushed in his temple.
He never knew what killed him." Nate looked up quickly.

"I didn't give him no blow, sir--not intentional, that is--I just swung
the fire-stick in spite of me, and his head run agin it. I had been mad,
but I'd got it under me. I'd dropped the stick to my side, and was goin'
to lead him away, when Lucy's screech made me 'most crazy for a minute,
and I didn't know rightly what I was doing. But 'twan't murder was in my
heart. I'll swear to that! All I thought was to keep him off and see
what ailded Lucy. It seemed so dumb queer to have her go fur me 'cause I
was a-goin' to shet up her pa where he could cool off a bit! Women's
queer cattle, though," he ruminated slowly, moving his head up and down.

Dalton shrugged his shoulders, then looked at Joyce and said gently,

"You mean we don't always understand them."

"Well, that's it, I s'pose. 'Twas going too fur, I presume, for me to
say I'd take him to the lock-up. You see, that was a disgrace, and no
mistake. It hurted her feelings an' then she turned agin me."

"But she let me bring a message," interposed Joyce quickly, though her
manner was not assured. "I am certain she is sorry for you, and that she
means to try and forgive you." Nate turned and looked at her several
seconds, as if collecting his wits.

"It's sorter hard to understand," he said at last, in a hopeless tone.
"I did it all f