"You'd ought to go to Congress. You got the gift," said Dinsmore with dry irony. Five minutes earlier he had been, as Roberts said, a man with a rope around his neck. Now he was free, the wide plains before him over which to roam. He was touched, felt even a sneaking gratitude to this young fellow who was laying up trouble for himself on his account; and he was ashamed of his own emotion. "I'll go to jail; that's where I'll go," answered Jack grimly. "But that's not the point." "I'll say one thing, Roberts. I didn't kill Hank. One of the other boys did. It can't do him any harm to say so now," muttered Dinsmore awkwardly. "I know. Overstreet shot him." "That was just luck. It might have been me." Jack looked straight and hard at him. "Will you answer me one question? Who killed Rutherford Wadley?" "Why should I?" demanded the bad-man, his eyes as hard and steady as those of the other man. "Because an innocent man is under a cloud. You know Tony didn't kill him. He's just been married. Come clean, Dinsmore." "As a favor to you, because of what you're doin' for me?" "I'm not doin' this for you, but to satisfy myself. But if you want to put it that way--" "Steve Gurley shot Ford because he couldn't be trusted. The kid talked about betrayin' us to Ellison. If Steve hadn't shot him I would have done it." "But not in the back," said Jack. "No need o' that. I could 'a' gunned him any time in a fair fight. We followed him, an' before I could stop him Gurley fired." The line-rider turned to the jailer. "You heard what he said, Yorky." "I ain't deef," replied the little saddler with sulky dignity. His shoulder was aching and he felt very much outraged. "Ford Wadley was a bad egg if you want to know. He deserved just what he got," Dinsmore added. "I don't care to hear about that. Yore horse is waitin', Dinsmore. Some one might come along an' ask inconvenient whyfors. Better be movin' along." Dinsmore buckled the belt round his waist and picked up the rifle. "Happy days," he said, nodding toward Jack, then turned and slouched out of the door. A moment, and there came the swift clatter of hoofs. CHAPTER XLV RAMONA DESERTS HER FATHER Arthur Ridley, seated on the porch between Clint Wadley and Ramona, was annoying one and making himself popular with the other. For he was maintaining, very quietly but very steadily, that Jack Roberts had been wholly right in refusing to release Dinsmore.