Betty stood up and waited, her eyes fastened on them as they moved forward. Her heart was going like a triphammer. She knew what she dreaded, and presently that her apprehensions were justified. The foreman’s prisoner was the tramp who called himself Tug. CHAPTER X “ONE SQUARE GUY” From Betty’s cheeks the delicate wild-rose bloom had fled. Icy fingers seemed to clutch at her heart and squeeze the blood from it. This was the worst that could happen, since she knew her father was not wounded to death. Lon spoke, grimly. “Bumped into him down the creek a ways--hidin’ in the willows. Heard a rustling an’ drapped in on him onexpected. Thought he wouldn’t come with me at first, then he changed his mind an’ thought he would.” The tramp said nothing. His dogged eyes passed from Betty to her father. She thought there leaped into them a little flicker of surprise when they fell upon the ranchman sitting on the ground with his leg bound up. “Have you taken his gun from him?” Reed asked. “Couldn’t find it. He must ’a’ throwed it away.” The foreman passed an exploring hand over the body of the prisoner to make sure that he had not missed a concealed weapon. “No, sir. He ain’t got a gat with him now, unless he’s et it.” “Take him to the bunkhouse and keep him guarded. We’ll ’phone for the sheriff. Soon as you get to the house call up Doc Rayburn and have him run right out. Then hook up a team and come get me,” the ranch-owner directed. From the fog of Betty’s distress a small voice projected itself. “You’re not going to send for the sheriff without making sure, Dad?” “Sure of what?” The steel-gray eyes were hard and cold. “Sure he did it. He hasn’t said so.” Reed’s laughter was harsh and without humor. “Nor he ain’t liable to. Right now he’s trying to fix up his alibi.” “Aren’t you going to hear what he’s got to say?” “He can tell it in court.” Betty turned from him to the prisoner. “Why don’t you say something?” She did not get past the defense of his sardonic smile. “What shall I say?” “Tell him you didn’t do it,” she begged, seeking assurance for herself. “Would he believe me? Would you?” There came to her a conviction that she would--if he said it in a way to inspire confidence. “Yes,” she said. The veil of irrision lifted from his eyes. He looked straight at her. “I didn’t do it.” Instantly Betty knew he was telling the truth. A warm resurgent wave flooded her veins. His life was bound up with tragedy. It had failed of all it had set out to be. But she knew, beyond doubt or evidence, that he had not fired the stacks or shot her father. The amazing thing now, to her mind, was that even for a moment she could have believed he would kill at advantage in cold blood. “I knew it! I knew it all the time!” she cried. “How did you know all that?” her father asked. “Because.”