were changing without any authority over you. Most youngsters have their fathers over them when that change comes. All of 'em have the law. But you didn't have either. And the result was that you changed from a boy into a man, and a free man. You hear me? You found that you could do what you wanted to do; nothing could hold you back except one thing—the girl!"
Andrew caught his breath, but the marshal would not let him speak.
"I've seen other free men—most people called them desperadoes. What's a desperado in the real sense? A man who won't submit to the law. That's all he is. But, because he won't submit, he usually runs foul of other men. He kills one. Then he kills another. Finally he gets the blood lust. Well, Andy, that's what you never got. You killed one man—he brought it on himself. But look back over the rest of your career. Most people think you've killed twenty. That's because they've heard a pack of lies. You're a desperado—a free man—but you're not a man-killer. And there's the whole point.
"And this was what turned you loose as a criminal—you thought the girl had cut loose from you. Otherwise to this day you'd have been trying to get away across the mountains and be a good, quiet member of society. But you thought the girl had cut loose from you, and it hurt you. Man-killer? Bah! You're simply lovesick, my boy!"
"Talk slow," whispered Andrew. "My—my head's whirling."
"It'll whirl more, pretty soon. Andy, do you know that the girl never married Charles Merchant?"
There was a wild yell; Andrew was stopped in midair by a rifle thrust into his stomach.
