"I never learned. Until tonight I never had a pistol in my hand."
"You done damned well—to start out with," commented the Texan dryly.
"But, oh, it's horrible!" sobbed the girl, "and it's all my fault!"
"I reckon that's right. It looks like a bad mix-up all around."
"Oh, why didn't you tell me what a beast he was? You knew all the time. And when you insulted him I thought you were horrid! And I thought he was so noble when he refrained from shooting you."
"No. He wasn't noble, none noticeable—Purdy wasn't. An' as for me tellin' you about him—answer me square: Would you have believed me?"
The girl's eyes fell before his steady gaze.
"No," she faltered, "I wouldn't. But isn't there something we can do?
Some way out of this awful mess?"
The Texan's eyes flashed a glint of daring. He was thinking rapidly. Endicott moved his horse closer to the cowboy. "Can't you manage to get her away—onto a train some place so she can avoid the annoyance of having to testify at the trial, and submit to the insulting remarks of your sheriff?"
The girl interrupted him: "Winthrop Adams Endicott, if you dare to even think such a thing—I'll never speak to you again! Indeed he won't take me away or put me on any train! I got you into this, and I won't budge one inch until you get out of it. What do I care for a little annoyance—and as for the sheriff, I'll say 'boo' at him in the dark and he'll die."