"No--I didn't know him. He was a young fellow. But you may be sure he
wasn't hit mortally. I know, because I shot him myself."

"You!" She drew back in a sudden sick horror of him.

"Why not?" he answered doggedly. "They were shooting at me--aiming to
kill, too. I shot low on purpose, when I might have killed him."

"Oh, I must go home--I must go home!" she moaned.

"I've got the sheriff's orders to hold you pending an investigation.
What harm does it do you to stay here a while?" he asked doggedly.

"Don't you see? When my father hears of it he will be furious. I made
Phil promise not to tell him. But he'll hear when he comes back. And
then--there will be trouble. He'll drag me from you, or he'll die
trying. He's that kind of man."

A pebble rolled down the face of the wall against which she leaned.
Weaver looked up quickly--to find himself covered by a carbine.

"Hands up, seh! No--don't reach for a gun."

"So it's you, Mr. Keller! Homesteading up there, I presume?"

"In a way of speaking. You remember I asked you a question."

"And I told you to go to Halifax."