"Well, I'll be on his heels," was the grim promise of Isaac Stain, thinking of the sister who had been slain by Braley's Indians down on the River White. One of the men rushed out of the cabin. He was vastly excited. "Don't let go of him," he shouted to the men who were holding Martin. "There's hell to pay in there. Where is Mrs. Gwyn?" "I never done it!" wailed Martin, livid with terror. "I swear to God--" "Shut up!" "She's over there, Sam,--with Ike Stain." Ignoring the question that followed him, the man called Sam hurried up to the couple at the edge of the bush. "Better clear out, Mrs. Gwyn," he said soberly. "I mean, don't stay around. Something in there you oughtn't to see." "What is it?" she inquired sharply. "Well, you see,--there's a dead man in there,--knifed. Blood all over everything and--" "The man called Suggs?" "I reckon so. Leastwise it must be him. 'Pears to be a stranger to all of us. Deader'n a door nail. He's--" "I am not chicken-hearted, Mr. Corbin," she announced. "I have seen a good many dead men in my time. The sight of blood does not affect me. I will go in and see him. No! Please do not stay me." Despite his protestations, she strode resolutely across the lot. As she passed Martin Hawk that cowering rascal stared at her, first without comprehension, then with a suddenly awakened, acute understanding. It was she who had brought the authorities down upon him. She had made "affidavy" against him,--she had got him into this horrible mess by swearing that he stole her sheep and calves. True, he had stolen from her,--there was, no doubt about that,--but he had covered his tracks perfectly. Any one of a half-dozen men along the river might have stolen her stock,--they were stealing right and left. How then did she come to fix upon him as the one to accuse? In a flash he leaped to a startling conclusion. Barry Lapelle! The man who knew all about his thievish transactions and who for months had profited by them. Hides, wool, fresh meats from the secret lairs and slaughter pens back in the trackless wilds, all these had gone down the river on Barry's boats, products of a far-reaching system of outlawry, with Barry and his captains sharing in the proceeds. Now he understood. Lapelle had gone back on him, had betrayed him to his future mother-in-law. The fine gentleman had no further use for him; Mrs. Gwyn had given her consent to the marriage and in return for that he had betrayed a loyal friend! And now look at the position he was in, all through Barry Lapelle. Sheep stealing was nothing to what he might have to face. Even though Moll had done the killing, he would have a devil of a time convincing a jury of the fact. More than likely, Moll would up and deny that she had anything to do with it,--and then what? It would be like the ornery slut to lie out of it and let 'em hang her own father, just to pay him back for the lickings he had given her.