"Why, not more'n half of 'em got calves." "Sure? Not more than half?" "Why ... I guess--" "And you've got sixteen young calves in this pen! How do you account for that?" A murmur ran among her men and Cole looked at her with fright in his eyes. "I dunno!" he suddenly burst out, voice trembling. "I dunno nothin' about it. You've all got me here an' are pickin' on me. I didn't steal anything. I thought they was all mine." And then, in a broken, repressedly frantic appeal: "I don't want to go to jail again. I don't know nothin'...." "Again?" she said, quite gently. He looked at her and nodded slowly. The little resistance he had offered her was gone; his limbs trembled and his eyes had that whipped, abject look that a broken spirited dog will show. "You've been in jail once? For stealing cattle?" "I didn't steal.... They said I did. They didn't want me around. They're like all you big outfits; they don't want me ... they don't want me...." He lifted one hand in a gesture of hopeless appeal and tears showed in his eyes. They didn't want him, as she didn't want him! And suddenly an overwhelming pity surged upward in the girl for this man. It was like her, like all the Jane Hunters, like all men and women in whose hearts great strength and great pity is combined. There was no question of his guilt, but he was helpless before her; his fate was in her hands ... and back in her mind that other theory was forming; that other hope was coming to stronger life.... "Cole, did you steal my calves?" She leaned low and spoke intently; her voice was a mingling of resolution and warmth that created confidence in his heart. For a moment he evaded her look; then answered it and a sob came up into his thin throat and shook it. He looked from her to Hepburn and then to Webb and read there something that Jane, whose eyes followed his, could not read; all she could read was threat ... threat, threat! "Did you steal my calves?" she repeated in a tone even lower. She saw her men strain forward. "Oh, I don't want to go to jail!" he said and tears streamed down his seamed cheeks. "I took 'em ... but I'm a poor man ... a poor man...." From Bobby came a stifled cry. She started forward again, but this time it was Hilton who grasped her arm, rather roughly. He drew her back, hissing a word between his teeth. His eyes glittered. Riley stepped forward quickly beside Cole. His face was strained; mouth very grim. Oliver was beside him; breathing quickly. "What's your verdict, Miss Hunter?" Riley asked. His voice was hoarse. "You have heard it," she said gently. "You heard it from his lips." She was not looking at them, but at Bobby Cole, who stood with knuckles pressed against her lips, fright, misery in her staring eyes. The strength, the vindictiveness was gone. She was a little girl, then, a little girl in trouble!