"
"Like to put me in the calaboose?"
"In the penitentiary. Yes, sir!" A moment later the question that
was in her thoughts leaped hotly from her lips. "Who are you,
sir, that dare to commit murder and boast of it?"
She had flicked him on the raw at last. Something that was near
to pain rested for a second in his eyes. "Murder is a hard name,
ma'am. And I didn't say he was daid, or any of the three," came
his gentle answer.
"You MEANT to kill them, anyhow."
"Did I?" There was the ghost of a sad smile about his eyes.
"The way you act, a person might think you one of Ned Bannister's
men," she told him, scornfully.
"I expect you're right."
She repented her a little at a charge so unjust. "If you are not
ashamed of your name why are you so loath to part with it?"
"Y'u didn't ask me my name," he said, a dark flush sweeping his
face.
"I ask it now."
Like the light from a snuffed candle the boyish recklessness had
gone out of his face. His jaws were set like a vise and he looked
hard as hammered steel.
"My name is Bannister," he said, coldly.
"Ned Bannister, the outlaw," she let slip, and was aware of a
strange sinking of the heart.
It seemed to her that something sinister came to the surface in
his handsome face.
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