"No, but I cayn't prove I didn't." The old cattleman looked at the end of his cigar thoughtfully. "Nor I cayn't prove I went out to Dick Grein's place in that three-four hours not accounted for." "Anyhow, you can show where you got the ten thousand dollars you paid the bank," said Bob hopefully. A moment of silence; then Crawford spoke. "No, son, I cayn't tell that either." Faint and breathless with suspense, Joyce looked at her father with dilated eyes. "Why not?" "Because the money was loaned me on those conditions." "But--but--don't you see, Dad?--if you don't tell that--" "They'll think I'm guilty. Well, I reckon they'll have to think it, Joy." The steady gray eyes looked straight into the brown ones of the girl. "I've been in this county boy and man for 'most fifty years. Any one that's willin' to think me a cold-blooded murderer at this date, why, he's welcome to hold any opinion he pleases. I don't give a damn what he thinks." "But we've got to prove--" "No, we haven't. They've got to do the proving. The law holds me innocent till I'm found guilty." "But you don't aim to keep still and let a lot of miscreants blacken yore good name!" suggested Hart. "You bet I don't, Bob. But I reckon I'll not break my word to a friend either, especially under the circumstances this money was loaned." "He'll release you when he understands," cried Joyce. "Don't bank on that, honey," Crawford said slowly. "You ain't to mention this. I'm tellin' you three private. He cayn't come out and tell that he let me have the money. Understand? You don't any of you know a thing about how I come by that ten thousand. I've refused to answer questions about that money. That's my business." "Oh, but, Dad, you can't do that. You'll have to give an explanation. You'll have to--" "The best explanation I can give, Joy, is to find out who held up the stage and killed Tim Harrigan. It's the only one that will satisfy me. It's the only one that will satisfy my friends." "That's true," said Sanders. "Steve Russell is bringin' hawsses," said Bob. "We'll ride out to the Bend to-night and be ready for business there at the first streak of light. Must be some trail left by the hold-ups." Crawford shook his head. "Probably not. Applegate had a posse out there right away. You know Applegate. He'd blunder if he had a chance. His boys have milled all over the place and destroyed any trail that was left." "We'll go out anyhow--Dave and Steve and I. Won't do any harm. We're liable to discover something, don't you reckon?" "Maybeso. Who's that knockin' on the door, Joy?" Some one was rapping on the front door imperatively. The girl opened it, to let into the hall a man in greasy overalls. "Where's Mr. Crawford?" he demanded excitedly. "Here. In the sitting-room. What's wrong?"