Jean of the Lazy A | Page 9

here had seen him take the train, and asked about him.
No, it wasn't Art."
"Well, who was it, then?"
Never before had Lite failed to tell Jean just what she wanted to know.
He failed now, and he went away as though he was glad to put distance
between them. He did not know what to think. He did not want to think.
Certainly he did not want to talk, to Jean especially. For lies never
came easily to the tongue of Lite Avery. It was all very well to tell Jean
that he didn't know who it was; he did tell her so, and made his escape
before she could read in his face the fear that he did know. It was not so
easy to guard his fear from the keen eyes of his fellows, with whom he
must mingle and discuss the murder, or else pay the penalty of having
them suspect that he knew a great deal more about it than he admitted.

Several men tried to stop him and talk about it, but he put them off. He
was due at the ranch, he said, to look after the stock. He didn't know a
thing about it, anyway.
Lazy A coulee, when he rode into it, seemed to wear already an air of
depression, foretaste of what was to come. The trail was filled with
hoofprints, and cut deep with the wagon that had borne the dead man to
town and to an unwept burial. At the gate he met Carl Douglas, riding
with his head sunk deep on his chest. Lite would have avoided that
meeting if he could have done so unobtrusively, but as it was, he pulled
up and waited while Carl opened the wire gate and dragged it to one
side. From the look of his face, Carl also would have avoided the
meeting, if he could have done so. He glanced up as Lite passed
through.
"Hell of a verdict," Lite made brief comment when he met Carl's eyes.
Carl stopped, leaning against his horse with one hand thrown up to the
saddle-horn. He was a small man, not at all like Aleck in size or in
features. He looked haggard now and white.
"What do you make of it?" he asked Lite. "Do you believe--?"
"Of course I don't! Great question for a brother to ask," Lite retorted
sharply. "It's not in Aleck to do a thing like that."
"What made you say you saw him ride home? You didn't, did you?"
"You heard what I said; take it or leave it." Lite scowled down at Carl.
"What was there queer about it? Why--"
"If you'd been inside ten minutes before then," Carl told him bluntly,
"you'd have heard Aleck say he came home a full hour or more before
you say you saw him ride in. That's what's queer. What made you do
that? It won't help Aleck none."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Lite slouched miserably in
the saddle, and eyed the other without really seeing him at all. "They

can't prove anything on Aleck," he added with faint hope.
"I don't see myself how they can." Carl brightened perceptibly. "His
being alone all day is bad; he can't furnish the alibi you can furnish. But
they can't prove anything. They'll turn him loose, the grand jury will;
they'll have to. They can't indict him on the evidence. They haven't got
any evidence,--not any more than just the fact that he rode in with the
news. No need to worry; he'll be turned loose in a few days." He picked
up the gate, dragged it after him as he went through, and fumbled the
wire loop into place over the post. "I wish," he said when he had
mounted with the gate between them, "you hadn't been so particular to
say you saw him ride home about the same time you did. That looks
bad, Lite."
"Bad for who?" Lite turned in the saddle aggressively.
"Looks bad all around. I don't see what made you do that;--not when
you knew Jim and Aleck had both testified before you did."
Lite rode slowly down the road to the stable, and cursed the impulse
that had made him blunder so. He had no compunctions for the lie, if
only it had done any good. It had done harm; he could see now that it
had. But he could not believe that it would make any material
difference in Aleck's case. As the story had been repeated to Lite by
half a dozen men, who had heard him tell it, Aleck's own testimony had
been responsible for the verdict.
Men had told Lite plainly that Aleck was a fool not to plead
self-defense, even in face of