Limber's face was white; his right hand flashed to his pistol, then fell away. His eyes stared in dumb misery toward the house. The other men saw Katherine Glendon standing in the doorway. Every head was bared instantly. She understood that something was wrong, and an expression of dread darkened her eyes as she moved to her husband's side.

"What is it, Jim?" she asked.

Glendon kicked the gravel but no one answered. Then as her eyes moved from face to face, she recognized Limber.

"What is wrong, Limber?"

The cowpuncher kept his eyes on the horn of his saddle. He would have shot Glendon for the insult pa.s.sed, but he could not force himself to tell Glendon's wife their mission.

Graham cursed inwardly. Glendon's lips wore an ugly smile, and he refused to speak.

"The train was robbed again last night, Mrs. Glendon," explained Graham, at last. "Three-fingered Jack was killed. He made a statement accusing Glendon and Alpaugh. We're all friends of Glendon's and don't believe the story was true; but we have to take him back with us. We can't help ourselves."

Katherine held tightly to the picket fence while the man was speaking.

"You are making a terrible mistake," she cried in relief. "He has not been away from home for over a month."

"He told us that," was the answer, "and we're glad of it, too."

She turned to her husband, her hand rested on his arm. "Jim, tell me you are innocent, and I will believe in you in spite of everything," she implored.

He glanced suspiciously at the men. "You forget, Katherine, these men will be witnesses to every word I speak."

"We will ride off a bit, Glendon, but we've got to watch you," replied Graham. Following the constable, the rest rode out of earshot, leaving husband and wife practically alone.

"Are you mixed up in it, Jim?"

"No;" he replied boldly, trying to look her in the eyes. As his glance wavered, she knew that he was lying, and he knew that she read his guilt. The knowledge roused his resentment.

"Jim, be honest with me," she begged earnestly. "Trust me. No matter what has happened--what you may have done, you are my husband and I will stand by you. Tell me the truth."

"There is nothing to go into hysterics over," he retorted. "You know as much about the affair as I do. You know I have not been away from home for a month. If you want to help me, as you pretend you do, that statement from you will counteract anything Jack may have said. I don't know whether your testimony would even be admitted as evidence."

"I could say that truthfully," she answered; "and, oh, Jim! I am so thankful."

"I know you have already accused, tried and sentenced me as guilty," he shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the men. "I'll be ready as soon as I can saddle up."

Katherine stood by the gate, numb with the shock, and as the men rode past, they touched their hats. She only saw the careless nod that her husband gave her, and he rode away, chatting with the men.

Motionless Glendon's wife watched the last trace of the dust-cloud from the horses' hoofs, then, she turned with dragging steps into the house.

A few days later, she learned through Juan, who had been to see Chappo, that the posse had caught up with the fleeing bandits near the Mexican border. Their surrender was effected after the ponies of the outlaws had been shot from under them.

Downing, Burks, Wentz and two brothers, named Rowan, const.i.tuted the remainder of the band. They, together with Alpaugh and Glendon, were taken to the County jail at Tombstone to await their trial.

Then a note from Glendon reached Katherine. He wanted her to come to Tombstone at once and stay there until the trial was over. So, leaving Juan in full charge, she obeyed the wishes of the man she had married.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

When the trial took place, the fact that Alpaugh and Glendon had been in their homes, and there being no proof of their actual connection with the attempted robbery, merely the unsupported statement of Three-fingered Jack, augured their complete vindication.

As the case was about to be closed, a bomb was thrown by the prosecuting attorney, who asked to have Wentz put on the stand as a witness for the Prosecution. Alpaugh and Glendon, with their attorneys were not prepared for Wentz' evidence which corroborated the story of Three-fingered Jack.

a.s.sured of a very light sentence, or possible freedom, as result of his turning State's evidence, Wentz made a complete confession of his part in the matter, and the convincing details remained unshaken by the most severe cross-examination by the lawyers for the defence.

Alpaugh and Glendon, as the testimony progressed exchanged glances of consternation, and the confusion of their attorneys was apparent not only to Judge and jury, but also to casual spectators who had no knowledge of the twists of legal procedure. The jury was out but a short time, and the verdict of "Guilty" was no surprise to any one who was in the Court room. A few days later Glendon and Alpaugh, together with all the others implicated, were sentenced to ten years in the Yuma Penitentiary. Public sentiment approved of the verdict, but many sympathizing eyes turned on Katherine Glendon, who sat white-faced, at the back of the Court room.

She had remained in Tombstone during the entire time of the trial, and like many others, believed Glendon and Alpaugh the victims of spite on the part of Three-fingered Jack. To her, the unexpected development was crushing. In her heart she felt it was the truth, although her husband persisted in declaring his and the constable's innocence. Her own testimony had been brief and convincing, but in no way conflicted with the minute circ.u.mstances stated by Wentz regarding Glendon's activities.

In fact, it only served to prove that Glendon had planned a perfect alibi with his wife as an innocent accomplice.

Immediately after the conviction, Wentz was given his liberty as promised. With his first appearance a few hours later on the streets of Tombstone, the open threats of friends of the convicted men, caused him to hasten back to the County jail and ask its protection until he could arrange to get away from Arizona safely.

The warden allowed him the privilege, but was not enthusiastic over it, as he said, "Well, Wentz, you're in a fine mess, now. I wouldn't change places with you for a lot! You're out a job, busted, got no friends and have to quit the country. Derned if I haven't got more respect for those fellows in the cells!"

Wentz made no reply, but slumped down in a chair, trying to figure some way out of his dilemma, and the warden, lighting a cigar, continued grimly, "You're in the same fix as the feller that sawed the limb off the tree, while he was sitting on the end of the limb."

The other man scowled, but held his tongue. This was his only place of refuge at present. Even those who had no sympathy for the outlaws had still less use for the man who had betrayed them. The warden rose with a smile as Katherine Glendon entered the room. She had come to see her husband. Wentz' head dropped until he heard their retreating steps in the corridor.

"Is there anything I can do?" Katherine asked almost hopelessly, as she sat in the cell talking to Glendon when they were alone.

"Go home," commanded Glendon. "There's no use hanging around here any more. Forbes, our lawyer, says that the railroad company stretched a point in having the indictment read 'interfering with the United States mail.' No one touched the mail car. The railroad company never could have won, and that's why they made it a Federal case. It was a put up job all around, and Wentz stood in with the railroad people to get us."

"Why should Three-fingered Jack have accused you?" she uttered a thought that had puzzled her.

"Well, you see I had a row with him in Willc.o.x the last time I was in there," Glendon replied glibly, then hurried to add, "Now, see here, Katherine, you've got a chance to help me, and no one else can do it.

Will you stand by me? I swear that if I get out of this trouble you will have no further cause to reproach me. I have done a few decent things since I married you. Not many, but can't you remember that I let you keep Donnie instead of sending him to father, as I had a legal right to do?"

"Yes, Jim! I will never forget it! But even without that, I would do my utmost to help you, because you are the father of my boy."

"You're a brick, Katherine! Now, see here, I want you to circulate a pet.i.tion for my pardon, after the first excitement has died down and I have shown myself a model prisoner. You will have to get a certain number of names, as the pet.i.tion has to go to Washington, because it was a Federal case. The Governor of the Territory has no jurisdiction over it. You won't refuse to do this for me, will you? Every one is against me now, and if you fail me, I shall take advantage of the first opportunity to kill myself."

"Jim, have I ever failed you yet?" she asked simply.

"No; you've been a long way too good for me," he answered, "and if I can get this squared, I'll show you how I appreciate you and what you have done."

Despite his promises, she left the jail with a heavy heart, knowing his weak and vacillating character, and feeling that his protestations were not to be reckoned seriously. But, she also knew that when the time came, she would help in any way she was able. So husband and wife parted, and the woman returned to the Circle Cross ranch the following day.

Juan and Tatters met her with delight. The old Mexican hovered about her in dumb sympathy. A letter from Donnie was full of his childish interests. The touch of the badly scrawled pages comforted her as though the child's hands were laid on her own. A feeling of thanksgiving surged over her, that the boy was away where no knowledge of the shadow in their home could cloud his eyes.

When the Mexican stood in the door of the kitchen, saying in his liquid, native tongue, "Buenos noches, Senora" (Good night), she remembered that she could not keep the man, there was so little money left now.

Gently she explained the situation to Juan. The bewildered expression on his face suddenly changed to eagerness.

"Senora, I have saved up money. Eet is for both of us. Some day--manana--you pay me back."