“Yes,” she continued, “when Wing-o and I had talked it over, I expected any minute to hear of Blacky’s arrest. Then you two rambled in with your mules and—well, spilled the beans, as they say. I’m confident, though, that if the sheriff had been there Halfaman would not now be under arrest, and you and I would not be fleeing across this old desert. I think the sheriff went inside on some matter connected with Blacky Silk, whom my scribble had caused him to suspect. Maybe he went to try and find out more about the man. He told the deputies to come down out of the mountains and see that he did not get away, perhaps, while he was on the inside. They came, and in the meantime you fellows had shown up with your mules and things. You two already were under suspicion because of the pink necktie—and you being a man of mystery, anyway, you know. So the deputies decided that to arrest you two would be the proper thing.
“And now,” she added, “I’m ready to hear what you have to say on the subject.”
“You think me innocent, then?”
“Of course.”
He leaned toward her and put an arm about her. Screened by the desert darkness, they kissed again.
“Despite the pink tie and the pasteboard cover?” he asked softly.
“Despite everything. Please explain, though. I’m merely curious—that’s all, d——”
“Say it,” he urged.
“Dearest!” she whispered, under the sheltering blackness that hid her face.
“It’s all so simple,” he told her at last, “so ridiculously simple. Long ago I promised Daisy that I would help him any way I could, for I have learned to love the heart of the man and to forget his unlettered mind and lack of culture. It’s a fellow’s heart that counts, after all. Culture and education alone never could cause a friend to do what he’s done for me. I could tell many stories of his sacrifices for me when we were on the road together. And once he saved my life on a fast train at the risk of his own.