“I’ll tell you this much: Someone went out of his haid and began shooting. Inside of three minutes it was all over.” “Did—did Rowan kill either of them?” she whispered. “I don’t know who killed Tait. Several of the boys were firing. Mac didn’t kill Gilroy. I’m ’most sure of that.” “You’re not dead sure,” she insisted. “I’m what you might call morally certain. But there’s one man can set yore mind at rest, if you can get him to talk.” “Who?” “Hal Falkner. He knows who started the shooting and who killed Dan Gilroy.” “I’ve hardly met him. Do you think he would tell me?” “Maybe he would.” He smiled a little. “I notice you mostly get yore way. Hal’s rough-and-ready. Don’t you mind it if he acts gruff. That’s just his way.” “I’ll go see him.” “I reckon it won’t do any harm. But I can tell you one thing, anyhow. If you give Mac the benefit of all the doubts, it will be about what’s right. He saved the herders from Falkner. Silcott testified to that. Before Gilroy was shot I heard yore husband holler to stop firing. Now wouldn’t it be onreasonable to figure that he gunned Dan himself right away? If Mac wouldn’t tell you-all what happened it was because we had all made a solemn agreement not to talk.” “Do you think that is it?” “I shorely do.” “I’m so glad.” “An’, Miss Ruth?” “Yes, Mr. Yerby?” He hesitated before he made the plunge. “I won’t see you-all again for a long time, maybe never. You’re young and proud and high-heeled, like you-all got a perfect right to be. But I want to say this: If you live to be a hundred, yo’ll never meet any one that’s more of a man than Rowan McCoy. He’s white clear through. I’ve seen a right smart of men in my time. Most o’ them had a streak of lean and a streak of fat, as the old saying goes. But yore husband, he assays ’way up all the time. Good luck or bad makes no difference with him. He’s the real stuff.” A wistful little smile touched her face. “He has one good friend, anyhow.” “He has hundreds. He deserves them, too.” “I’ve got to say good-bye now, Mr. Yerby.” She gave him both hands. Tears blurred her eyes so that she could scarcely see him. “Good-bye. Heaps of luck—oh, lots of it! And don’t worry about Missie and Boy.” “I’ll not worry half so much now, little friend. And I’m hoping all that luck will come to you, too.” From Sheriff Matson Ruth secured a permit to see Falkner. The cow-puncher was brought, hand-cuffed, into the office of the jailer. It was an effect of his sudden, furious temper that his guards never took any chances with him. None of the friendly little privileges that fell to the other prisoners came his way. “Mrs. McCoy wants to talk with you, Hal,” explained Ackerman, the jailer. “Don’t make any mistake about this. I’ll be in the outer room there with a gat. I’ve got a guard under the window. This is no time to try for a get-away.”