“It's my idea, Vaniman, that you were trying to work a hold-up game on the bank, knowing that you were done here,” stated Britt, coolly. “But something went wrong before you had a chance to offer a compromise. Naturally, you thought we'd do 'most anything to keep our little bank from failing.” The young man beat his fist upon his breast. “Have you the damnation cheek, Britt, to use me, the victim, to rehearse your lies on?” “I'm giving you a little glimpse of the evidence. If the hint is of any use to you, you're welcome.” “Britt, have you turned into a demon?” Vaniman demanded. He stared at the usurer with honest incredulity. “I've had enough setbacks, in recent days, to craze 'most any man, I'll admit. But I'm keeping along in my usual course, doing the right thing as I see it.” “Britt, I have never done you an injury. Are you going to ruin me because a good girl loves me?” “I have too much respect for that young lady to allow her name to be dragged into a mess of this sort,” stated the amazing Britt. “And I think that she'll wake up after she has come to a realizing sense of what a narrow escape she has had.” Vaniman stood there, his hands closing and unclosing, his palms itching to feel the contact of Britt's cheeks. There was venom in Britt's eyes. This outrageous baiting was satisfying the older man's rancor--the ugly grudge that clawed and tore his soul when he sat alone in his chamber and gazed on the girl's pictured beauty. Every night, after he puffed out his light, he muttered the same speech--it had become the talisman of his ponderings. “Whilst I'm staying alone here he'll be alone in a cell in state prison.” Vaniman understood. He turned on his heel and walked out of Britt's office. In the street the young man met Prophet Elias, who was adventuring abroad under his big umbrella. Vaniman was in a mood to poke ruthless facts against his aches. “Prophet, you ought to know whether any of the folks in this town believe that I'm innocent. Are there any?” Elias, ever since he had flung to the cashier the sage advice about keeping his eye peeled, had used texts rarely in his infrequent talks with Vaniman. “Oh yes, there are a few,” he said, with matter-of-fact indifference. “But they didn't lose money by the bank failure.” “What do you think about me?” The Prophet cocked his eyebrow. “'Can a man take fire into his bosom, and his clothing not be burned?' Britt, the bank, the girl! Three hot torches, young sir! Very hot torches!” He walked on. Then he turned and came back and patted Vaniman's arm. “You didn't keep your eye peeled! The young are thoughtless. But four good old eyes will be serving you while you're--_away_! Mine and Brother Usial's.” “Thank you!” said the young man, and he went on his way. He was reflecting on that text the Prophet had enunciated. Might it not apply as well to Tasper Britt? CHAPTER XVIII A PERSISTENT BELIEF