Amy glanced at him sideways, and smiled a faint, wise smile to herself. For in these matters, while men are more analytical after the fact, women are by nature more informed. She said nothing, but stooped to the creek for a drink. When she had again straightened to her feet, Bob had come to himself. The purport of Amy's last speech had fully penetrated his understanding, and one word of it—the word testify—had struck him with an idea.
"By Jove!" he cried, "that lets out Pollock!"
"What?" said Amy.
"This man Oldham was the only witness who could have convicted George Pollock of killing Plant."
"What do you mean?" asked Amy, leaning forward interestedly. "Was he there? How do you know about it?"
A half-hour before Bob would have hesitated long before confiding his secret to a fourth party; but now, for him, the world of relations had shifted.
"I'll tell you about it," said he, without hesitation; "but this is serious. You must never breathe even a word of it to any one!"
"Certainly not!" cried Amy.
"Oldham wasn't an actual witness of the killing; but I was, and he knew it. He could have made me testify by informing the prosecuting attorney."
Bob sketched rapidly his share in the tragedy: how he had held Pollock's horse, and been in a way an accessory to the deed. Amy listened attentively to the recital of the facts, but before Bob had begun to draw his conclusions, she broke in swiftly.