“What is it?”
“That you let me tell you a story. Then that you give over your thoughts of revenge—or justice—for tonight; and that tomorrow or the next day, as soon as I can get things in shape for the girl so that if I am killed she will have a chance with the world, we go out into the woods somewhere and—finish it.”
“It can wait,” Farley replied, “until tomorrow.”
Dalton inclined his head gravely.
“Thank you. Now, if you will listen to my story. Won’t you sit down?” Farley dropped to the chair at his side. “I had trouble in Richmond, where our home was. I killed a man. Why, doesn’t matter to you. Unfortunately for me, I killed that man in the presence of another who saw the thing done. That other man was your pardner. He hated me as cordially as I hated him. In any court in the world he would have sworn that it was cold-blooded murder, and his word would have hanged me.
“He would have lied when he said it, but he would have sworn it just the same. As it was, I had to run for it. Virginia was a little baby, six months old. Her mother—” his voice growing very hard—“was not strong. She died. I wasn’t with her. I was being hounded from one place to the other; and the man who hounded me when the whole thing would have been dropped, the man who was the real murderer of my wife, was the man who made it necessary for me to run before what men call justice. I did go back and get the baby. Then we came here.
“Again and again, as the years rolled around, I got word from the world; each time to hear that what the world had forgotten was not forgotten by the man who was not satisfied in my exile, my loss of all the things which counted. He was still looking for me, he still would stop only when he saw me given over into the hangman’s hands. A few days ago I found that he had penetrated into this wilderness. His prospector’s outfit did not mislead me. He was looking for me. I was glad of it. I told Virginia that soon we were going back into the world from which we had hidden so many long years. I killed him.”
“You murdered him,” replied Farley coldly. “If you had given him a chance——”
“How do you know I murdered him? How do you know I didn’t give him a chance?”
“The hole in his throat—death came upon him suddenly, unexpectedly. He may have been asleep, even.”