“Sixty-three dollars is all I have with me, and I couldn’t give you more—_not even if you put red hot irons between my fingers_.” She gave it to him straight, her blue eyes fixed steadily on him. Yet she was not prepared for the effect of her words. The last thing she had expected was to see the blood wash out of his bronzed face, to see his sensitive nostrils twitch with pain. He made her feel as if she had insulted him, as if she had been needlessly cruel. And because of it she hardened her heart. Why should she spare him the mention of it? He had not hesitated at the shameless deed itself. Why should she shrink before that wounded look that leaped to his fine eyes in that flash of time before he hardened them to steel? “You did it—didn’t you?” she demanded. “That’s what they say.” His gaze met her defiantly. “And it is true, isn’t it?” “Oh, anything is true of a man that herds sheep,” he returned, bitterly. “If that is true it would not be possible for you to understand how much I despise you.” “Thank you,” he retorted, ironically. “I don’t understand at all. I don’t see how you can be the man they say you are. Before I met you it was easy to understand. But somehow—I don’t know—you don’t _look_ like a villain.” She found herself strangely voicing the deep hope of her heart. It was surely impossible to look at him and believe him guilty of the things of which, he was accused. And yet he offered no denial, suggested no defense. Her troubled eyes went over his thin, sunbaked face with its touch, of bitterness, and she did not find it possible to dismiss the subject without giving him a chance to set himself right. “You can’t be as bad as they say. You are not, are you?” she asked, naively. “What do y’u think?” he responded, coolly. She flushed angrily at what she accepted as his insolence. “A man of any decency would have jumped at the chance to explain.” “But if there is nothing to explain?” “You are then guilty.” Their eyes met, and neither of them quailed. “If I pleaded not guilty would y’u believe me?” She hesitated. “I don’t know. How could I when it is known by everybody? And yet—” He smiled. “Why should I trouble y’u, then, with explanations? I reckon we’ll let it go at guilty.” “Is that all you can say for yourself?” He seemed to hang in doubt an instant, then shook his head and refused the opening. “I expect if we changed the subject I could say a good deal for y’u,” he drawled. “I never saw anything pluckier than the way y’u flew down from the mesa and conducted the cutting-out expedition. Y’u sure drilled through your punchers like a streak of lightning.” “I didn’t know who you were,” she explained, proudly. “Would it have made any difference if y’u had?” Again the angry flush touched her cheeks. “Not a bit. I would have saved you in order to have you properly hanged later,” she cut back promptly.