The face of the convicted man twitched, but he did not look around. Without the evidence of his eyes he knew who had broken down under the strain, whose game will had weakened at the blow. In that moment he thought wholly of her, not at all of himself. A grizzled old cattleman pushed his broad shoulders through the crowd toward the condemned raider. “This ain’t the end, boy. We’ll work like sixty to get you a new trial. This will never go through—never in the world!” His strong arm fell with frank affection across the shoulders of his friend. “It don’t matter what names they call you, son. You’re the same old Mac to all of us.” “This is when a fellow finds out who his friends are, Roswell,” answered Rowan simply. He had many of them. They rallied to him by scores—long, loose-jointed, capable men with leathery brown faces, men who had fought with him against Wyoming blizzards for the lives of driven cattle, men who had slept beside him under the same tarp by many a campfire. From Rawlins and Casper and Cheyenne, and even far-away Denver, came words of good cheer. They stressed the point that the fight for his life was just beginning and that the verdict of the jury would not be accepted as final. A telegram from Pendleton, Oregon, touched him deeply. It was signed by four bronco busters whom he had beaten for the championship at Bad Ax: Stick to the saddle, Mac. Don’t you pull leather, old scout. We’re here hollering our heads off for the best rider that ever slapped a saddle on an outlaw. Clamp your knees and hang on tight. Say, Mac, we got a little pile of chips to shove into the game any time you’re shy of blues. ROADY DUNN. J. C. MORGAN. SLATS HOFFMAN. TEX GREEN. Mrs. Stovall, who had been a very unwilling witness for the prosecution, brought a cake and a cherry pie to the jail for him. Incidentally, she delivered a message with which she had been commissioned. “Norma says for me to tell you that this trial doesn’t fool her any. She knows you’re being punished for some of the other boys. She wanted I should tell you that she knows you didn’t intend to kill Joe.” This was an opinion becoming every day more widespread. Men began to say that McCoy was the victim of evil chance. Shoshone County was still determined to see justice done the murderers of Dan Gilroy, but it hoped Rowan would escape the gallows. He had been so game throughout the trial, so careful to bring out nothing to the prejudice of his fellow prisoners that the hearts of men turned toward him.