“Thank you.” He maneuvered his pony until the moonlight streamed in her face. “I reckon you’ve got the same notion as your father—that I shot Doubler?” he said, watching her narrowly. “You are willing to take Duncan’s word for it?”
“Duncan’s word, and the agreement which I found in the pocket of your vest,” she returned, without looking at him. “I suppose that is proof enough?”
“Well,” he said with a bitter laugh, “it does look bad for me, for a fact. I can’t deny that. And I don’t blame you for thinking as you do. But you heard what I told your father about the shooting of Doubler being a plant.”
“A plant?”
“A scheme, a plot—to make an innocent man seem guilty. That is what has been done with me. I didn’t shoot Doubler. I wouldn’t shoot him.”
She looked at him now, unbelief in her eyes.
“Of course you would deny it,” she said.
“Well,” he said resignedly, “I reckon that’s all. I can’t say that I expected anything else. I’ve done some things in my life that I’ve regretted, but I’ve never told a lie when the truth would do as well. There is no reason now why I should lie, and so I want you to know that I am telling the truth when I say that I didn’t shoot Doubler. Won’t you believe me?”
“No,” she returned, unaffected by the earnestness in his voice. “You were at Doubler’s cabin when I heard the shot—I met you on the trail. You killed that man, Blanca, over in Lazette, for nothing. You didn’t need to kill him; you shot him in pure wantonness. But you killed Doubler for money. You would have killed my father had I not been there to prevent you. Perhaps you can’t help killing people. You have my sympathy on that account, and I hope that in time you will do better—will reform. But I don’t believe you.”
“You forgot to mention one other crime,” he reminded her in a low voice, not without a trace of sarcasm.