“I’ve told you,” he said hoarsely. “I shot him for his lies about Fanchon. I—I had to shoot him, Dan. He wasn’t fit to live!”
As Leigh spoke, he flung his arm out with a gesture of passionate fury. Daniel caught the arm and held it.
“Leigh, tell me the whole of it. I’m your lawyer—do you hear?”
Something in Daniel, his strength and his will, conquered, and the younger brother yielded to it. He drew a quick breath and straightened himself, feeling the clasp of Daniel’s hand on his arm. Then he told his story—told it from the beginning to the end, his voice only breaking a little.
“I suppose he died right away,” he said as he finished. “He didn’t move any more. He deserved it—but, oh Lord, Dan! I don’t want to see another man die because I shot him! Maybe I’m a coward, but I don’t!”
“You’re no coward,” replied Daniel quietly. “It’s a trying thing to see even a brute like that die, I reckon.” He glanced at the boy’s face and hesitated. “We’re going to put up a big fight, Leigh.”
Leigh’s mouth twisted oddly; he was trying to keep his lips from shaking.
“I reckon I can stand for it, Dan. Mother——” He looked at his brother.
“You’ll see her soon. You know how she loves you. We’re all behind you, boy!”
Dan rose as he spoke. He hated to leave Leigh, but it was inevitable. He stood looking down at him, aware that Leigh winked back fresh tears at the thought of his mother. But the prisoner’s thoughts shifted elsewhere. He looked up shyly, reluctantly.