“Somebody--you, Sibert--go for Lucy. That'll settle this thing.” Duane heard as a man in an ugly dream. The faces around him, the hum of voices, all seemed far off. His life hung by the merest thread. Yet he did not think of that so much as of the brand of a woman-murderer which might be soon sealed upon him by a frightened, imaginative child. The crowd trooped apart and closed again. Duane caught a blurred image of a slight girl clinging to Sibert's hand. He could not see distinctly. Aiken lifted the child, whispered soothingly to her not to be afraid. Then he fetched her closer to Duane. “Lucy, tell me. Did you ever see this man before?” asked Aiken, huskily and low. “Is he the one--who came in the house that day--struck you down--and dragged mama--?” Aiken's voice failed. A lightning flash seemed to clear Duane's blurred sight. He saw a pale, sad face and violet eyes fixed in gloom and horror upon his. No terrible moment in Duane's life ever equaled this one of silence--of suspense. “It's ain't him!” cried the child. Then Sibert was flinging the noose off Duane's neck and unwinding the bonds round his arms. The spellbound crowd awoke to hoarse exclamations. “See there, my locoed gents, how easy you'd hang the wrong man,” burst out the cowboy, as he made the rope-end hiss. “You-all are a lot of wise rangers. Haw! haw!” He freed Duane and thrust the bone-handled gun back in Duane's holster. “You Abe, there. Reckon you pulled a stunt! But don't try the like again. And, men, I'll gamble there's a hell of a lot of bad work Buck Duane's named for--which all he never done. Clear away there. Where's his hoss? Duane, the road's open out of Shirley.” Sibert swept the gaping watchers aside and pressed Duane toward the horse, which another cowboy held. Mechanically Duane mounted, felt a lift as he went up. Then the cowboy's hard face softened in a smile. “I reckon it ain't uncivil of me to say--hit that road quick!” he said, frankly. He led the horse out of the crowd. Aiken joined him, and between them they escorted Duane across the plaza. The crowd appeared irresistibly drawn to follow. Aiken paused with his big hand on Duane's knee. In it, unconsciously probably, he still held the gun. “Duane, a word with you,” he said. “I believe you're not so black as you've been painted. I wish there was time to say more. Tell me this, anyway. Do you know the Ranger Captain MacNelly?” “I do not,” replied Duane, in surprise.