"If you think," she smiled faintly, "that because we've only known each other a few hours, I----"
Jeff laughed. The laugh hurt the girl, so that she shrank from him. So engrossed were the pair that neither marked Sillett as he opened the door of the hut. He advanced a couple of steps, smoking a pipe, and then paused, astonished, as Jeff's next words reached him.
"Look at here," he burst out. "That story----It's my own story. I left San Lorenzo yesterday afternoon to arrest your father. The sheriff an' me knew he was somewhere in these foothills."
"You have come to arrest--Dad?"
"That's it."
She stared at him confusedly, trying to recall his story. Jeff waited.
"You called him a thief. Dad--a thief! How dare you? How dare you? It's a lie, or--or," she faltered, "or a mistake."
"No mistake," said Jeff wretchedly.
He had risen. Man and maid stared fiercely into each other's faces. Behind them, Sillett stood quietly observant, but his right hand stole down to his pocket.
"Hold up your hands!" he said sharply.