At about the time Miss Harlan and Taylor were sitting on the rock on the bank of the river near the Arrow, Carrington was in the courthouse at Dawes, leaning over Judge Littlefield’s desk. A tall, sleek-looking man of middle age, with a cold, steady eye and a smooth smile, stood near Carrington. The man was neatly attired, and looked like a prosperous mine-owner or operator. But had the judge looked sharply at his hands when he gripped the one that was held out to him when Carrington introduced the man; or had he been a physiognomist of average ability, he could not have failed to note the smooth softness of the man’s hands and the gleam of guile and cunning swimming deep in his eyes. But the judge noted none of those things. He had caught the man’s name—Mint Morton—and instantly afterward all his senses became centered upon what the man was saying. For the man spoke of conscience—and the judge had one of his own—a guilty one. So he listened attentively while the man talked. The thing had been bothering the man for some months—or from the time it happened, he said. And he had come to make a confession. He was a miner, having a claim near Nogel. He knew Quinton Taylor, and he had known Larry Harlan. One morning after leaving his mine on a trip to Nogel for supplies, he had passed close to the “Larry’s Luck” mine. Being on good terms with the partners, he had thought of visiting them. Approaching the mine on foot—having left his horse at a little distance—he heard Taylor and Harlan quarreling. He had no opportunity to interfere, for just as he came upon the men he saw Taylor knock Harlan down with a blow of his fist. And while Harlan lay unconscious on the ground Taylor had struck him on the head with a rock. Morton had not revealed himself, then, fearing Taylor would attack him. He had concealed himself, and had seen Taylor, apparently remorseful, trying to revive Harlan. These efforts proving futile, Taylor had rigged up a drag, placed Harlan on it, and had taken him to Nogel. But Harlan died on the way. To Littlefield’s inquiry as to why Morton had not reported the murder instantly, the man replied that, being a friend to Taylor, he had been reluctant to expose him. After the man concluded his story the judge and Carrington exchanged glances. There was a vindictively triumphant gleam in Littlefield’s eyes, for he still remembered the humiliation he had endured at Taylor’s hands. He took Morton’s deposition, told him he would send for him, later; and dismissed him. Carrington, appearing to be much astonished over the man’s confession, accompanied him to the station, where he watched him board the train that would take him back to Nogel. And on the platform of one of the coaches, Carrington, grinning wickedly, gave the man a number of yellow-backed treasury notes. “You think I won’t have to come back—to testify against him?” asked the man, smiling coldly.