“Mariel!” he burst out, struggling awkwardly to his feet. “What are you doing here?”
“What—what are you doing here?” she demanded in return. “I thought you were in—in jail.”
“I was,” he grinned, “until a few hours ago, when some of my very good friends induced the Sheriff to release me. I thought perhaps you’d heard about it.”
She smiled and advanced a step. “I left the ranch very early—before daybreak,” she explained. “I talked to no one before I left. In fact, I wasn’t at all eager for them to know what I planned to do.”
“And that was—”
Mariel colored slightly. “We’d been hearing so many stories about this terrible affair. I couldn’t believe them all. So I—I just came to see for myself.”
“You didn’t believe I murdered Joe Fyffe?” Otis inquired eagerly.
Mariel dropped her eyes. “No,” she said, “I didn’t.”
“Why?” Otis persisted, thrilling oddly at her words. “Haven’t you heard about what Fyffe wrote? And haven’t you heard about my revolver, with the two empty shells? And haven’t you heard how I was chosen to—to run him out of the country? Have you heard a single thing that would indicate that I didn’t do it?”
“I’ve heard all those things,” she admitted. “And I must confess I haven’t heard a thing that indicated your innocence.”