"Wait!" Dakota rose from his chair and walked to a shelf, from which he took a box, returning to Langford's side and opening it. He drew out a knife, shoving it before Langford's eyes and pointing out some rust spots on the blade. "This knife was given to me by Ned Keegles," he said slowly. "These rust spots on the blade are from his father's blood. Look at them!" he said sharply, for Langford had turned his head. At the command he swung around, his gaze resting on the knife. "That's a pretty story," he sneered. Dakota's laugh when he returned the knife to the box chilled Sheila as that same laugh had chilled her when she had heard it during her first night in the country--in this same cabin, with Dakota sitting at the table--a bitter, mocking laugh that had in it a savagery controlled by an iron will. He turned abruptly and walked to his chair, seating himself. "Yes," he said, "it's a pretty story. But it hasn't all been told. With a besmirched name and the thoughts which were with him all the time, life wasn't exactly a joyful one for Ned Keegles. He was young, you see, and it all preyed on his mind. But after a while it hardened him. He'd hit town with the rest of the boys, and he'd drink whiskey until he'd forget. But he couldn't forget long. He kept seeing his father and Langford; nights he'd start from his blankets, living over and over again the incident of the murder. He got so he couldn't stay in Dakota. He came down here and tried to forget. It was just the same--there was no forgetfulness. "One night when he was on the trail near here, he met a woman. It was raining and the woman had lost the trail. He took the woman in. She interested him, and he questioned her. He discovered that she was the daughter of the man who had murdered his father--the daughter of David Dowd Langford!" Langford cringed and looked at Sheila, who was looking straight at Dakota, her eyes alight with knowledge. "Ned Keegles kept his silence, as he had kept it for ten years," resumed Dakota. "But the coming of the woman brought back the bitter memories, and while the woman slept in his cabin he turned to the whiskey bottle for comfort. As he drank his troubles danced before him--magnified. He thought it would be a fine revenge if he should force the woman to marry him, for he figured that it would be a blow at the father's pride. If it hadn't been for a cowardly parson and the whiskey the marriage would never have occurred--Ned Keegles would not have thought of it. But he didn't hurt the woman; she left him pure as she came--mentally and physically." Langford slowly rose from his chair, his lips twitching, his face working strangely, his eyes wide and glaring. "You say she married him--Ned Keegles?" he said, his voice high keyed and shrill. He turned to Sheila after catching Dakota's nod. "Is this true?" he demanded sharply. "Did you marry him as this man says you did?"