anyhow--with a wife and property. That's the how of it."

"Oh, yes, that's all right; but what makes you think I'm innocent?"

"I know Mr. White, you see. And Mr. White seems to think that at about
the time the bank was robbed you were--in a garden!" Charley's voice was
edged with faint mockery.

"Huh!" said Jeff, startled. "Who in hell is Mr. White?"

"Mr. White--in hell--is the devil!" said Charley.

At this unexpected disclosure Jeff lashed his horse to a gallop--his
spurs, you remember, being certain feet under the Ophir dump--and strove
to bring his thoughts to bear upon this new situation. He slowed down
and Charley drew up beside him.

"You seem to have stayed quite a while--in a garden," suggested Charley.

"That tongue of yours is going to get you into trouble yet," said Jeff.
"You'll never live to be grayheaded."

Charley was not to be daunted.

"Say, Jeff, she's pretty easy to get acquainted with, what? And those
eyes of hers--a little on the see-you-later style, aren't they?"

Jeff turned in his saddle.

"Now you look here, Mr. Charley Gibson! I'm under obligations to you,
and so on--but I've heard all of that kind of talk that's good--_sabe_?"

"Oh, I know her," persisted Charley. "Know her by heart--know her like a
book. She made a fool of me, too. She drives 'em single, double, tandem,
random and four abreast!"

"You little beast!" Jeff launched his horse at the traducer, but Gibson
spurred aside.

"Stop now, Jeffy! Easy does it! I've got a gun!"

"Shut your damn head then! Gun or no gun, don't you take that girl's
name in your mouth again, or----Hark! What's that?"

It was a clatter far behind--a ringing of swift hoofs on hard ground.

"By George, they're coming! Griffith will be a man yet!" said Jeff
approvingly. "Come on, kid; we've got to burn the breeze! I suppose that
talk of yours is only your damn fool idea of fun, but I don't like it.
Cut it out, now, and ride like a drunk Indian!" He laughed loud and
long. "Think o' that candle, will you?--burning away with a clear,
bright, steady flame, and nobody within ten miles of it!"

They raced side by side; but Gibson, heedless of their perilous
situation, or perhaps taking advantage of it, took a malicious delight
in goading Jeff to madness; and he refused either to be silent or to
talk about candles, notwithstanding Jeff's preference for that topic.

"I'm not joking! I'm telling you for your own good." Here the tormentor
prudently