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And so I'd like to know just why you killed Judge Kirkstone?" Keith's two fists knotted in the center of the table. Conniston saw his blue eyes darken for an instant with a savage fire. In that moment there came a strange silence over the cabin, and in that silence the incessant and maddening yapping of the little white foxes rose shrilly over the distant booming and rumbling of the ice.
And as he grew haggard and tense-nerved and unkempt, little lines formed about the corners of his mouth which would have told William Conniston, Senior, that there had been wrought in his son a change which was not of the body, not of the mind alone, but even of the secret soul. He thought that he should have heard from Mr. Crawford by now, and yet no word had reached him.
"If you can handle them, all right. Go to it. If you need any help What's the matter?" "Hi don't awsk any 'elp," muttered Ben. "Just one man " "You mean that Swede with the big white mare in the lead?" interrupted Conniston, quickly. Ben looked at him swiftly. Grunting an answer which Conniston did not catch, he turned and went back along the edge of the ditch.
"Nobody," returned Conniston, calmly. "I didn't suppose that I was to stand up and eat." Lonesome Pete's grin overran his eyes, and the ends of his fiery mustache curved upward. Two or three men laughed outright. Brayley's brows twitched into a scowling frown. "Nobody's askin' you to git funny, little rooster! You git out 'n that chair an' git out 'n it fas'. Sabe?"
One man chuckled aloud, Toothy giggled like a girl, and the others grinned broadly. For a moment Brayley's face darkened ominously. Then his frown passed, and he turned about in his chair toward the door. "Hello, Con," he said, quietly. "Hello, Brayley," Conniston answered, in the same tone. Brayley's eyes went back to the men at the table, shifting quickly from one to another.
"After two and a half years of THAT even a murderer must have seemed like a saint to you, Conniston. You have done your work splendidly. The whole story shall go to the Department, and if it doesn't bring you a commission, I'll resign. But we must continue to regret that John Keith did not live to be hanged." "He has paid the price," said Keith dully. "No, he has not paid the price, not in full.
Many a night during the swift weeks which followed he had no more than three or four hours' sleep. Until the Lark yelled to his men to "knock" off at night, Conniston labored with them.
He looked again to see that his eyes were not tricking him. And it was there in cold, implacable print. Derwent Conniston that phoenix among men, by whom he had come to measure all other men, that Crichton of nerve, of calm and audacious courage, of splendid poise a burglar! It was cheap, farcical, an impossible absurdity.
And then, when he had seen Conniston's face, "Gad, man! What's wrong?" Conniston shook his head as he sank into a chair. "I I'm a bit upset," he answered, unsteadily. "I made a mistake; that's all." "It wasn't your father?" "That's the trouble. It was! He refuses to send a dollar. And he's leaving to-morrow for a year in Europe."
An' I'm always figgerin' it's about time for my luck to git over her vacation an' come back to work. How much did you drop, Bart?" "Forty bucks," returned Bart, reaching for the whisky-bottle. "Which same forty was all I had. Here's how." "How," repeated his companion. "I'm laying you a bet," said Conniston, quietly, coming toward them from the table.
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