"I'm wonderin' about one thing, boy," he said. "Did Miller kill George Doble accidentally or on purpose?" "I'm wondering about that myself. You remember that Denver bartender said they had been quarreling a good deal. They were having a row at the very time when I met them at the gate of the corral. It's a ten-to-one shot that Miller took the chance to plug Doble and make me pay for it." "Looks likely, but we'll never know. Son, you've had a rotten deal handed you." The younger man's eyes were hard as steel. He clamped his jaw tight, but he made no comment. "Nobody can give you back the years of yore life you've lost," the cattleman went on. "But we'll get yore record straightened out, anyhow, so that won't stand against you. I know one li'l' girl will be tickled to hear the news. Joy always has stuck out that you were treated shameful." "I reckon I'll not go up to your house to-night," Dave said in a carefully modulated voice. "I'm dirty and unshaven, and anyhow I'd rather not go to-night." Crawford refused to accept this excuse. "No, sir. You're comin' with me, by gum! I got soap and water and a razor up at the house, if that's what's troublin' you. We've had a big day and I'm goin' to celebrate by talkin' it all over again. Dad gum my hide, think of it, you solemn-faced old owl! This time last night I was 'most a pauper and you sure were. Both of us were under the charge of havin' killed a man each. To-night we're rich as that fellow Crocus; anyhow I am, an' you're haided that way. And both of us have cleared our names to boot. Ain't you got any red blood in that big body of yore's?" "I'll drop in to the Delmonico and get a bite, then ride out to the Jackpot." "You will not!" protested the cattleman. "Looky here, Dave. It's a showdown. Have you got anything against me?" Dave met him eye to eye. "Not a thing, Mr. Crawford. No man ever had a better friend." "Anything against Joyce?" "No, sir." "Don't hate my boy Keith, do you?" "How could I?" "Then what in hell ails you? You're not parlor-shy, are you? Say the word, and we'll eat in the kitchen," grinned Crawford. "I'm not a society man," said Sanders lamely. He could not explain that the shadow of the prison walls was a barrier he could not cross; that they rose to bar him from all the joy and happiness of young life. "Who in Mexico's talkin' about society? I said come up and eat supper with me and Joy and Keith. If you don't come, I'm goin' to be good and sore. I'll not stand for it, you darned old killjoy." "I'll go," answered the invited man. He went, not because he wanted to go, but because he could not escape without being an ungracious boor.