The unhappy men, thus led on, as we have seen, from the commission of misdemeanor to that of crime, in reality, never for a moment thought upon the matter.  The landlord, Dexter, and Rivers, had, time out of mind, been their oracles; and, without referring to the distinct condition of those persons, they reasoned in a manner not uncommon with the ignorant.  Like children at play, they did not perceive the narrow boundaries which separate indulgence from licentiousness; and in the hurried excitement of the mood, inspired by the one habit, they had passed at once, unthinkingly and unconsciously, into the excesses of the other.  They now beheld the event in its true colors, and there were but few among the squatters not sadly doubtful upon the course taken, and suffering corresponding dismay from its probable consequences.  To a few, such as Munro and Rivers, the aspect of the thing was unchanged—­they had beheld its true features from the outset, and knew the course, and defied the consequences.  They had already made up their minds upon it—­had regarded the matter in all its phases, and suffered no surprise accordingly.  Not so with the rest—­with Forrester in particular, whose mental distress, though borne with manliness, was yet most distressing.  He stood apart, saying nothing, yet lamenting inwardly, with the self-upbraidings of an agonized spirit, the easy facility with which he had been won, by the cunning of others, into the perpetration of a crime so foul.  He either for a time heard not or understood not the charges made by Ralph against his late coadjutor, until brought to his consciousness by the increased stir among the confederates, who now rapidly crowded about the spot, in time to hear the denial of the latter to the accusation, in language and a manner alike fierce and unqualified.

“Hear me!” was the exclamation of the youth—­his voice rising in due effect, and illustrating well the words he uttered, and the purpose of his speech:—­“I charge this born and branded villain with an attempt upon my life.  He sought to rob and murder me at the Catcheta pass but a few days ago.  Thrown between my horse’s feet in the struggle, he received the brand of his hoof, which he now wears upon his cheek.  There he stands, with the well-deserved mark upon him, and which, but for the appearance of his accomplices, I should have made of a yet deeper character.  Let him deny it if he can or dare.”

The face of Rivers grew alternately pale and purple with passion, and he struggled in vain, for several minutes, to speak.  The words came from him hoarsely and gratingly.  Fortunately for him, Munro, whose cool villany nothing might well discompose, perceiving the necessity of speech for him who had none, interfered with the following inquiry, uttered in something like a tone of surprise.

“And what say you to this accusation, Guy Rivers?  Can you not find an answer?”

“It is false—­false as hell! and you know it, Munro, as well as myself.  I never saw the boy until at your house.”