Johnny’s face worked convulsively as he strove for an honest answer. “I don’t know what I think,” he said at last. “Whenever I lie to you it’s because I want to save you from somethin’ I know’d hurt you. I’d steal for you, Molly Kent; I’d lie and do ’most anythin’, but when you ask me a straight question like that, I’ve got to shoot square. I tell you I don’t know what I think!” “Oh, Johnny, Johnny! You can’t mean that! You don’t think that my father could have killed that man? Why, he’s been the salt of the earth to me. No one has ever had to complain of him. You know what the last two winters have been, and the price of steers ’way down. It’s been two years of loss for him, and he’s too old to take it with a grin. He has been short with Hobe, but Hobe overlooks it. He understands. But you, Johnny—you suspect him—and of this. Aw-w-w!” A sob broke from her lips. “And I had such faith in you, Johnny,” she muttered distractedly. “Do you want to break my heart?” “Oh, please, Molly, don’t—don’t let it matter,” pleaded Johnny, the misery in his soul causing his voice to quaver. “What difference does it make what I think?” “I’ll be as honest as you,” Molly answered with a straightening of her lips. “It means my happiness. Do you think I could let you go away carrying that thought? You are no fool, Johnny Dice. Something more definite than anything you’ve told me planted that ugly thought in your mind. I want to know what it was. Don’t say you can’t tell me. Whatever you say won’t shake my faith in my father. Jackson Kent’s name is respected from one side of this State to the other. It’s not to defend him that I implore you to speak. I want you set right. This letter proves nothing. Mr. Traynor may have had many enemies. That he wanted to see me to satisfy an old man’s whim was undoubtedly just the merest coincidence. That in itself could not put my father under suspicion. Could it?” “I ain’t said that,” the unhappy Johnny replied. “It’s just my foolishness.” Glancing at Molly, he saw that she was re-reading the letter. “Tell me,” she demanded, “why did he ask me to keep away from the shipping pens? I’d have no reason for going there.” “I thought about that, too. It’s beyond me. All I know is that he was coming back here today. Dan Secor told me that. He’d fixed a gun for Traynor. Said he’d be back on the sixth.” “The sixth—the sixth of October!” The letter fluttered to the floor from the girl’s fingers as, white of face, she sprang to her feet. “Johnny!” she cried. “Oh, dear God! Don’t you see it—don’t you understand? The Diamond-Bar has begun shipping from Winnemucca on the sixth of October for three years. That is why he didn’t want me to go to the pens. He thought father would be there.”