had once supposed her to
be. A gown of graceful lines, a different way of dressing her hair, had
effected an almost miraculous change in her appearance. She became from
moment to moment less of the mountaineer and more of the city dweller,
and, realizing this, the trailer's admiration was tinged with something
very like despair. He was not a dullard; he divined that these outer
signs of change implied corresponding mental reversals. Her attitude
toward the mountains, toward life, had altered.

"She is turning away from my world back to the world from which she
came," was his vaguely defined conclusion.

Meanwhile the sheriff was saying: "Well, now, Carmody opens court in the
town-hall at ten this morning, and, Hans, you are to be on hand early.
I'll bring Miss McLaren up in the car about a quarter to ten and have
her in the doctor's office, which is only a few doors away."

"How is the Cuneo girl?" asked Hanscom.

"She seems rested and fairly chipper, but I can see she's going to be a
bad witness."

Helen's face clouded. "Poor girl! I feel sorry for her."

Mrs. Throop was less sympathetic. "She certainly has made a mess of it.
I can't make out which of these raiders she ran away with."

"She's going to defend them both," said Throop; "and she's going to deny
everything. I'd like to work the third degree on her. I'd bet I'd find
out what she was doing down at Watson's."

Helen, who knew the value which her defenders placed on the
correspondence between Rita's shoes and the footprint, was very grave as
she said: "I hope she had no part in the murder. Mrs. Throop says she is
hardly more than a child."

"Well," warned the sheriff, "we're not the court. It's up to Carmody and
his jury."

They said no more about the trial, and Hanscom soon left the room with
intent to find a lawyer who would be willing for a small fee to
represent the Kauffmans--a quest in which he was unsuccessful.

The sheriff followed him out. "Reckon I'd better take you up to
Carmody's office in my car," he said. "Kitsong may succeed in clapping a
warrant on your head."

VIII

The valley had wakened early in expectation of an exciting day. The news
of the capture of Busby and his companions had been telephoned from
house to house and from ranch to ranch, and the streets were already
filled with farmers and their families, adorned as for a holiday. The
entire population of Shellfish Canyon had assembled, voicing high
indignation at the