You'd best make up your mind like the cor'ner's jury done, that Fred Thurman was drug to death by his horse.

That's all that'll ever be proved, and if you can't prove nothing else you better keep your mouth shut." Lorraine sprang up and stood facing her father, every nerve taut with protest.

"You don't mean to tell me, dad, that you and Frank Johnson and Lone Morgan and--everybody in the country are _cowards_, do you ?" Brit looked at her patiently.

"No," he said in the tone of acknowledged defeat, "we ain't cowards, Raine.

A man ain't a coward when he stands with his hands over his head.