Underneath a rather scrubby cedar Dave drew up.  He glanced it over critically.  “Think it’ll do?” he asked Crawford in a voice the prisoner could just hear.

“Yep.  That big limb’ll hold him,” the old cattleman answered in the same low voice.  “Better let him stay right on the horse, then we’ll lead it out from under him.”

Miller pleaded for his life abjectly.  His blood had turned to water.  “Honest, I didn’t shoot Harrigan.  Why, I’m that tender-hearted I wouldn’t hurt a kitten.  I—­I—­Oh, don’t do that, for God’s sake.”

Thomas was almost as white as the outlaw.  “You don’t aim to—­you wouldn’t—­”

Crawford’s face was as cold and as hard as steel.  “Why not?  He’s a murderer.  He tried to gun Dave here when the boy didn’t have a six-shooter.  We’ll jes’ get rid of him now.”  He threw a rope over the convict’s head and adjusted it to the folds of his fat throat.

The man under condemnation could hardly speak.  His throat was dry as the desert dust below.  “I—­I done Mr. Sanders a meanness.  I’m sorry.  I was drunk.”

“You lied about him and sent him to the penitentiary.”

“I’ll fix that.  Lemme go an’ I’ll make that right.”

“How will you make it right?” asked Crawford grimly, and the weight of his arm drew the rope so tight that Miller winced.  “Can you give him back the years he’s lost?”

“No, sir, no,” the man whispered eagerly.  “But I can tell how it was—­that we fired first at him.  Doble did that, an’ then—­accidental—­I killed Doble whilst I was shootin’ at Mr. Sanders.”

Dave strode forward, his eyes like great live coals.  “What?  Say that again!” he cried.

“Yessir.  I did it—­accidental—­when Doble run forward in front of me.  Tha’s right.  I’m plumb sorry I didn’t tell the cou’t so when you was on trial, Mr. Sanders.  I reckon I was scairt to.”

“Will you tell this of yore own free will to the sheriff down at Malapi?” asked Crawford.

“I sure will.  Yessir, Mr. Crawford.”  The man’s terror had swept away all thought of anything but the present peril.  His color was a seasick green.  His great body trembled like a jelly shaken from a mould.

“It’s too late now,” cut in Dave savagely.  “We came up about this stage robbery.  Unless he’ll clear that up, I vote to finish the job.”

“Maybe we’d better,” agreed the cattleman.  “I’ll tie the rope to the trunk of the tree and you lead the horse from under him, Dave.”

Miller broke down.  He groveled.  “I’ll tell.  I’ll tell all I know.  Dug Doble and Shorty held up the stage.  I don’ know who killed the driver.  They didn’t say when they come back.”

“You let the water into the ditch,” suggested Crawford.

“Yessir.  I did that.  They was shelterin’ me and o’ course I had to do like they said.”

“When did you escape?”

“On the way back to the penitentiary.  A fellow give the deputy sheriff a drink on the train.  It was doped.  We had that fixed.  The keys to the handcuffs was in the deputy’s pocket.  When he went to sleep we unlocked the cuffs and I got off at the next depot.  Horses was waitin’ there for us.”