Outside Hale still waited, and as his eyes turned from the Tollivers to the Falins, seven of the faces among them came back to him with startling distinctness, and his mind went back to the opening trouble in the county-seat over the Kentucky line, years before--when eight men held one another at the points of their pistols. One face was missing, and that face belonged to Rufe Tolliver. Hale pulled out his watch. “Keep those men there,” he said, pointing to the Falins, and he turned to the bewildered Tollivers. “Come on, Judd,” he said kindly--“all of you.” Dazed and mystified, they followed him in a body around the corner of the jail, where in a coffin, that old Jadd had sent as a blind to his real purpose, lay the remains of Bad Rufe Tolliver with a harmless bullet hole through one shoulder. Near by was a wagon and hitched to it were two mules that Hale himself had provided. Hale pointed to it: “I've done all I could, Judd. Take him away. I'll keep the Falins under guard until you reach the Kentucky line, so that they can't waylay you.” If old Judd heard, he gave no sign. He was looking down at the face of his foster-brother--his shoulder drooped, his great frame shrunken, and his iron face beaten and helpless. Again Hale spoke: “I'm sorry for all this. I'm even sorry that your man was not a better shot.” The old man straightened then and with a gesture he motioned young Dave to the foot of the coffin and stooped himself at the head. Past the wagon they went, the crowd giving way before them, and with the dead Tolliver on their shoulders, old Judd and young Dave passed with their followers out of sight. XXX