But he had shot a man to death.

Ah, that was a serious business.

Good-natured, big, broad-shouldered, jovial Dyke, the man they knew, with whom they had shaken hands only yesterday, yes, and drank with him.

He had shot a man, killed him, had stood there in the dark and in the rain while they were asleep in their beds, and had killed a man.

Now where was he?
Instinctively eyes were turned eastward, over the tops of the houses, or down vistas of side streets to where the foot-hills of the mountains rose dim and vast over the edge of the valley.