Something in the dreariness of her stricken youth touched him. He spoke more gently:
“According to Silcott’s story it lies between me and Mac. If he didn’t fire those shots, I did. Do you reckon I’m going to tell you that he didn’t fire them? Why should I?”
Her eyes fell full in his. “Because I’m entitled to know the truth. I’m in trouble and you can help me. You’re no Larry Silcott. You’re a man. You stood firm at the risk of your life. Even if it is at your own expense, you’ll tell me. Rowan would do as much for your wife if you had one.”
Ruth had said the right word at last, had in two sentences touched both his pride and his gratitude.
“I reckon that beats me, ma’am,” he said. “I owe Mac a lot, and I’ll pay an installment of it right now. Yore husband never fired his gun from start to finish of the Bald Knob raid.”
The light in her eyes thanked him more than words could have done.
“While I’m at it I’ll tell you more,” he went on. “Mac laid the law down straight that we weren’t gunning for Tait. He didn’t want to take me along because he knew I was sore at the fellow, but when I insisted on going the others overruled him. After the killing Mac never once said ‘I told you so’ to the others for letting me go along. What’s more, when they asked questions about who killed Gilroy and who started the shooting, he gave them no satisfaction. He let the boys guess who did it. If Mac had said the word, the rest would have rounded on me. I would have been hanged, and they would have got short sentences. Your husband is a prince, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
“I got him and the other boys into all this trouble. He hasn’t flung it up to me once. What do you know about that?”
“I’m so glad I came to see you. It’s going to make a great difference to me.” There was a tremor in her voice that told of suppressed tears.