out an explanation, my friend, or you're liable to get spoiled."

It was the girl that spoke, in a low voice and very evidently under a
tense excitement.

"He is my brother and he has-- hurt himself. He can't ride any farther
and we have seventy miles still to travel. We didn't know what to do,
and so--"

"You started out to be a road-agent and he took a pot-shot at the
first person he saw. I'm surely obliged to you both for taking so much
interest in me, or rather in my team. Robbery and murder are quite a
family pastime, ain't they?"

The girl went white as snow, seemed to shrink before his sneer as from
a deadly weapon; and like a flash of light some divination of the
truth pierced the Westerner's brain. They were fugitives from justice,
making for the Mexican line. That the man was wounded a single glance
had told him. It was plain to be seen that the wear and tear of
keeping the saddle had been too much for him.

"I acted on an impulse," the girl explained in the same low tone. "I
saw you coming and I didn't know-- hadn't money enough to buy the
team-- besides--"

He took the words out of her mouth when she broke down.

"Besides, I might have happened to be a sheriff. I might be, but then
I'm not."