The old cattleman rose from the table and reached for his hat.
"Come on, son," he said to Dave. "I'll say we've done a good day's work. Both of us were under a cloud. Now we're clear. We're goin' up to the house to have some supper. Applegate, you'll get both of the confessions of Miller fixed up, won't you? I'll want the one about George Doble's death to take with me to the Governor of Colorado. I'm takin' the train to-morrow."
"I'll have the district attorney fix up the papers," the sheriff promised.
Emerson Crawford hooked an arm under the elbow of Sanders and left the office.
"I'm wonderin' about one thing, boy," he said. "Did Miller kill George
Doble accidentally or on purpose?"
"I'm wondering about that myself. You remember that Denver bartender said they had been quarreling a good deal. They were having a row at the very time when I met them at the gate of the corral. It's a ten-to-one shot that Miller took the chance to plug Doble and make me pay for it."
"Looks likely, but we'll never know. Son, you've had a rotten deal handed you."
The younger man's eyes were hard as steel. He clamped his jaw tight, but he made no comment.
"Nobody can give you back the years of yore life you've lost," the cattleman went on. "But we'll get yore record straightened out, anyhow, so that won't stand against you. I know one li'l' girl will be tickled to hear the news. Joy always has stuck out that you were treated shameful."
"I reckon I'll not go up to your house to-night," Dave said in a carefully modulated voice. "I'm dirty and unshaven, and anyhow I'd rather not go to-night."