“Looky yere!” argued the deputy. “Eph’ Carson an’ my brotheh. Sam, they was ranchin’ it oveh on the Brazos. Carson’s a tough _hombre_, remember. He’s gamblin’ a lot. Well, he sells ever’ last head o’ stuff on the place while Sam’s down in Fort Worth. Time Sam gits back with my kid-sisteh that’s got a share in the ranch, Carson’s done gambled away the money. The’s a row, o’ course. Sam, he’s got more guts than gun-sense. Carson nigh kills him. “Time I come into it, Carson’s rattled his hocks. Two years afteh, I’m ridin’ down in the El Paso country. Hear about Eph’ Carson o’ the O-Bar. I go high-tailin’ it oveh an’ hang around four-five days, but Carson don’t come. Then I start out fer Crow Point a-huntin’ him. “Then, hell bent, comes the Mex’ cooks’ helper-boy. I kept a cowboy from beatin’ him to death, one day. Says Carson’s killed an’ robbed an’ ever’body says I must’ve killed him! Well, whut do I do? Try to tell them red-eyed O-Bar boys as how I was intendin’ to kill Eph’ Carson, mebbe, but neveh got no chanct? Like hell! I figger the job I come to do is done. I leave that-’ere country in a mile-high cloud o’ dust.” Ware’s Kid slumped lower in the seat, going over and over his mental picture of the scene of the crime. Bos’ Johnson rose to cup his hands against the window glass and peer out into the night. Missing no slightest movement of his prisoner, the Ranger studied again the wide, powerful shoulders, the handy legs of the man who has ridden almost since birth. Johnson turned slowly. “Dallas! Be in soon,” he said. “Then--I ain’t blamin’ you-all none, Ware. But just--well sort o’ between us. I wisht I could make you believe I never done it. I sort o’ took to you-all from the beginnin’ an----” “’T ain’t a bit o’ use,” interrupted Ware’s Kid. A tiny smile was born far back in the gray-green eyes; seemed to spread over the habitually blank brown face and come finally to rest upon the thin-lipped mouth. “’T ain’t a bit o’ use,” he repeated. “’Cause--I know yuh never done it!” Ostentatiously he returned the derringer to his jumper pocket. “’S all right, Bos’. Yuh got to go down to Austin with me. Got to exhibit yuh some to the adj’tant gin’ral, to make him _sabe_. But that’ll be all. Listen: I went snoopin’ around some myself, down at Carwell. Found where the fella that killed Eph’ Carson had waited. Point one: there was two brown cigarette stubs on the ground. Yuh-all say yuh don’t smoke, an’ the’s no stain on yo’ fingers. “I found where this fella’s stood with his rifle in a sort o’ notch. His foot-prints was still pretty plain. Well, yo’ feet, Bos’ point in, like a pigeon’s. This fella’s showed in the soft dirt under the rock overhang, a-pointin’ out!