“I know, without telling, what my Chris does is the brave thing, the best thing,” said the girl, with softly shining eyes.  “And he never brags—­any more than you do, Wes.  You’re always making fun of yourself.  And I’m afraid you don’t know how serious a menace this Las Uvas gang is.  It isn’t what Chris may do or may not do.  All they want is a pretext.  Why, John, there are men down there who are really quite truthful—­as men go—­till they get on the witness stand.  But the minute they’re under oath they begin to lie.  Force of habit, I guess.  The whole courthouse ring hates Chris and fears him—­especially Matt Lisner, the sheriff.  In the old trouble, whenever he was outwitted or outfought, Chris did it.  Besides——­” She paused; the color swept to her cheek.

“Besides—­you.  Yes, yes,” grumbled Pringle.  “Might have been expected.  These women!  Does the Foy-boy know?”

“He knows that Lisner wanted to marry me,” said Stella.  Neck and cheek were crimson now; but it was characteristic that her level eyes met Pringle’s fearlessly.  “But before that—­he—­he persecuted me, John.  Chris must not know.  He would kill him.  But I wanted you to know in case anything happened to Chris. There is nothing they will stick at, these men.  Lisner is the vilest; he hates Chris worst of all.”  She was in deep distress; there were tears in her eyes as she smiled at him.  “And I wish—­oh, John Wesley, you don’t know how I wish you were staying here—­dear old friend!”

“As a dear and highly valuable old friend,” said Pringle sedately, “let me point out how shrewd and sensible a plan it would be for you and your Chris to go on a honeymoon at once—­and never come back.”

“I am beginning to think so.  Up to last night I had only my fears to go on.”

“But now you know.  We managed to make a joke of last night—­but what that push had in mind was plain murder.  I would dearly like,” said John Wesley, “to visit Las Uvas—­some dark night—­in a Zeppelin.”

* * * * *

At the corral gate the Major met them, with a face so troubled that Stella cried out in alarm: 

“Father!  What is it?  Chris?”

“Stella—­be brave!  Dick Marr was killed at midnight—­and they’re swearing it off on Chris.”

“But John Wesley was with him.”

“That’s just it.  Applegate and Creagan tell it that they saw Chris leaving town at eleven o’clock, that he said he was coming up here, and that he made a war-talk about Marr.  But not a word about Pringle or the fight at the hotel.  Joe Espalin doesn’t appear—­no claim that he saw Foy at all.”

“That looks ugly,” observed Pringle.

“Ugly!  Your testimony is to be thrown out as a lie made of whole cloth.  Espalin and the barkeeper don’t appear.  They’re afraid the Mexican will get tangled up, and Max will swear he didn’t see Chris at all.  It’s cut and dried.  You are to be canceled.  Marr was found this morning at the first crossroad above town.  His watch was stopped at ten minutes to twelve—­mashed, it seemed, where it hit on a stone when he fell.  If they had told about the mix-up with you and Chris last night, I might have thought they really believed Chris killed Marr—­or suspected it.  As it stands, we know the whole thing is a black, rotten conspiracy.”