Don't know if it will seem strange to you, but I forget it.

I borrowed farmer Winston's horse and rifle without his knowledge, though I had paid him a trifle to personate me and draw the troopers off the whisky-runners.

That was Winston's only complicity.

The troopers, who fancied they were chasing him, followed me until his horse which I was riding went through the ice, but Winston was in Montana at the time, and did not know that I was alive until a very little while ago.

Now, you can straighten that up and read it out to me." The magistrate's pen scratched noisily in the stillness of the room, but, before he had finished, Sergeant Stimson, hot and dusty, came in.
Then he raised his hand, and for a while his voice rose and fell monotonously, until Courthorne nodded.
"That's all right," he said.