There was Horrigan, for instance, who for seven long weeks kept him in good humor with his drollery, though he was bringing him in to be hanged.
And there were McTab, and le Bete Noir--the Black Beast--a lovable vagabond in spite of his record, and Le Beau, the gentlemanly robber of the wilderness mail, and half a dozen others he could recall without any effort at all.

No one called them liars when, like real men, they confessed their crimes when they saw their game was up.

To a man they had given up the ghost with their boots on, and Kent respected their memory because of it.

And he was dying--and even this stranger girl called him a liar?
And no case had ever been more complete than his own.

He had gone mercilessly into the condemning detail of it all.