Part 3 On The Little Big Horn Chapter 4 The Verge of Confession

Murphy's face was distorted into a hideous grin. "I notice you bear
exactly that kind of a scar, my man, and you spoke last night as if you
had some recollection of the case."

The mocking grin expanded; into the husky voice crept a snarl of
defiance, for now Murphy's courage had come back--he was fronting flesh
and blood. "Oh, stop preachin'--an' shoot--an' be damned ter ye!"

"You do me a grave injustice, Murphy. In the first place, I do not
possess the nature of an Indian, and am not out for revenge. Your
slashing at me down in Glencaid has n't left so much as a sting behind.
It's completely blotted out, forgotten. I haven't the slightest desire
to kill you, man; but I do want to clear my name of the stain of that
crime. I want you to tell the whole truth about that night's work at
Bethune; and when you have done so, you can go. I 'll never lay a
finger on you; you can go where you please."

"Bah!--ye ain't got no proof--agin me--'sides, the case is closed--it
can't be opened agin--by law."

"You devil! I 'd be perfectly justified in killing you," exclaimed
Hampton, savagely.

Murphy stared at him stupidly, the cunning of incipient insanity in his
eyes. "En' whar--do ye expect--me ter say--all this, pervidin', of
course--I wus fule 'nough--ter do it?"