Sheila repressed a desire to shudder, and turned from Langford so that he would not be able to see the disgust that had come into her eyes over the discovery that in addition to being a murderer her father was that most despicable of all living things--a hypocrite! It required all of her composure to be able to look at him again. "Who killed him?" she asked evenly. "Dakota, my dear." "Dakota!" She pronounced the name abstractedly, for she was surprised at the admission. "How do you know that Dakota killed him?" she said, looking straight at him. He changed color, though his manner was still smooth and his smile bland. "Duncan was fortunate enough to be in the vicinity when the deed was committed," he told her. "And he saw Dakota shoot him in the back. With his own rifle, too." There was a quality in his voice which hinted at satisfaction; a peculiar emphasis on the word "fortunate" which caused Sheila to wonder why he should consider it fortunate that Duncan had seen the murder done, when it would have been much better for the success of Dakota's and her father's scheme if there had been no witness to it at all. "However," continued Langford, with a sigh of resignation that caused Sheila a shiver of repugnance and horror, "Doubler's death will not be a very great loss to the country. Duncan tells me that he has long been suspected of cattle stealing, and sooner or later he would have been caught in the act. And as for Dakota," he laughed harshly, with a note of suppressed triumph that filled her with an unaccountable resentment; "Dakota is an evil in the country, too. Do you remember how he killed that Mexican half-breed over in Lazette that day?--the day I came? Wanton murder, I call it. Such a man is a danger and a menace, and I shall not be sorry to see him hanged for killing Doubler." "Then you will have Duncan charge Dakota with the murder?" "Of course, my dear; why shouldn't I? Assuredly you would not allow Dakota to go unpunished?" "No," said Sheila, "Doubler's murderer should be punished."