Of course Jack then remembered his quondam friend during the races on the Ute reservation, and the name Lillis puzzled him more than ever. He greeted Cal in a hearty manner, introducing Hazel.
"Wait a minute while I get my tickets fixed, then I'll have a chat with you," said Jack.
As he presented his tickets, stating the object of his errand, he noticed the official had a glass eye and scar near his ear. When the tickets were returned a name written across them identified so unmistakably a part of Jack's "vision" that he immediately recalled the story which Cal Wagner told him years before of the first grave in Silver Cliff. The name was "Bert Lillis." Allowing his curiosity to prevail, he asked abruptly, "Mr. Lillis, were you ever in Silver Cliff?"
The official started, a shiver ran through his frame, the color left his face until it was like a piece of Parian marble, while he replied just audibly, helplessly, "Yes," adding quickly, "Come in, I guess you must know. I—did you ever see me before?"
Jack shook his head, but turning to Cal said, "Cal, this is Bert Lillis, formerly of Silver Cliff."
Cal looked from one to the other and replied, "Guess you are mistaken. Lillis is dead many years."
"No, he is still alive," said the official. "Come in."
Upon being seated, no one seemed desirous of broaching the painful subject uppermost in their minds, while Hazel was completely mystified as to the conduct of the three men. Finally, with a great effort to restrain his feelings, his head bowed upon his breast, the railroad man said in broken sentences: "I—for fifteen years a blackened pall has shadowed my path, a floating, abandoned derelict moored to my heart has dragged me against the buffeting waves of the sea of life or held me helpless in the trough as storm crests broke over me in my misery. A man marked with the brand which God placed upon Cain for the murder of his brother, yet I was exonerated by the jury. I shot Les McAvoy in the discharge of my duty. I was a mere boy, without money, scantily clad, in search of wealth with which to support my mother, and had to accept the only opportunity presented in that lawless mining camp. I had no tools or trade and was not strong enough to do the work required of miners, and the camp had not advanced far enough to give employment to the ordinary run of commercial wage earners. It was instilled into me in early life to do my duty in whatever capacity I served, under all circumstances, and I considered it my duty to protect that gambling table even at the risk of my own life. The years of mental anguish which I have lived since that fatal moment, and the years which my poor old mother has had her head bowed in sorrow"—
"Wait a moment, Mr. Lillis," interrupted Cal. "You did not kill Les McAvoy."
"What is that—you say I did not? Oh! I wish—it is good of you to try to erase the stigma, but the evidence, the facts, the coroner's verdict, 'at the hands of Bert Lillis.' Oh, no, no"—sadly commented Lillis.