Shefford had not yet control of speech. Something in his gaze appeared to drive Joe frantic.
“Damn you! Tell me quick. Say YOU killed him!... If you want to know my stand, why, I'm glad!... Shefford, don't look so stony! ... For HER sake, say you killed him!”
Shefford stood with a face as gray and still as stone. With a groan the Mormon drew away from him and sank upon a log. He bowed his head; his broad shoulders heaved; husky sounds came from him. Then with a violent wrench he plunged to his feet and shook himself like a huge, savage dog.
“Reckon it's no time to weaken,” he said, huskily, and with the words a dark, hard, somber bitterness came to his face.
“Where—is—she?” whispered Shefford.
“Shut up in the school-house,” he replied.
“Did she—did she—”
“She neither denied nor confessed.”
“Have you—seen her?”
“Yes.”