Old Bill Hicks was beside him in a single stride, his face blazing.

“I ’m damned if yer will!” he growled madly.  “I ’m in on this deal, law er no law.  The whole blame thing is a bluff, an’ I ‘ll not stan’ fer it no longer.  Yer step back thar, Sam Hayes, er else Gulpin County will be lookin’ ’round fer another sheriff.  I ’ve got plumb ter the limit o’ patience in this game.”

Winston grasped the old man’s uplifted arm, whirling him sharply around.

“No,” he exclaimed almost wearily, “it ’s not to be a fight yet; let—­let her decide between us.”

She was already coming, walking alone directly across the open space toward them.  The eyes of the bewildered men were upon her, marking the white face, rendered more noticeable by its frame of dark, uncovered hair, the firm, womanly chin, the tightly compressed lips, the resolute, unwavering eyes.  She walked firmly, confidently forward, her head proudly uplifted, a stately dignity about her bearing which could not be ignored.  If she perceived either Winston or Farnham in that group she gave no sign, never halting until she stood directly before Sam Hayes.  Involuntarily, unconscious of the act, the sheriff pulled off his hat, and stood twirling it in his hands.

“Is it indeed true,” she asked, her voice thrilling with suppressed feeling, “that you possess a warrant sworn out by Biff Farnham, charging Mr. Winston with the abduction of his wife?”

“Yes, ma’am,” and the man changed the weight of his body to the other foot.  “I ’m sorry ter say it ’s true.”

She lifted one hand suddenly to her forehead as though in pain.

“And you intend to serve it?”

“I have no choice, ma’am; I ’m an officer of the law.”

There followed a pause, seemingly endless, the eyes of the men turned away.  She lifted her head, sweeping her gaze swiftly across the faces, and a flush crept into the white cheeks.

“Gentlemen,” her voice low and clear, but with a slight falter occasionally yielding peculiar power to the words, “it is true I am that man’s wife.”  She looked directly at him, apparently oblivious of his attempt at smiling indifference.  “By the laws of God and men I am his wife.  I neither deny this, nor have ever sought to escape from its obligations.  To me, the vows of marriage were sacred when first assumed; they remain no less sacred now.  This man is fully aware of how I feel in this regard; he knows I have proved true in spirit and letter to my vows; he knows exactly why I am not living with him; why I am earning my own living in the world; why I am here in this position to-day.  He knows it all, I say, because the desertion was his, not mine; and his present deliberate, cowardly attempt to besmirch my character by doing an injury to another is an unbearable insult, an outrage more serious than if he had struck me a physical blow.  The one I might forgive, as I have before forgiven, but the other is beyond the limits of pardon, if I would retain my own self-respect.  I am a woman, an honorable woman, and my reputation is more to me than life.”