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Leaving the door wide open, he coiled the rope neatly and placed it upon his table, laid the hacksaw beside it, undressed himself, blew out the light; and so lay down to pleasant dreams. Mr. Johnson was rudely wakened from his slumbers by a violent hand upon his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he smiled up into the scowling face of Undersheriff Barton.
She turned her head slightly. Lorry, booted and spurred, stood just within the doorway. He had something in his hand; a peculiarly shaped bundle wrapped loosely in a newspaper. Hardy was talking to Waring. The undersheriff was standing close to Waring's horse. Alice Weston had seen the glint in Lorry's eyes. She held her breath.
I didn't say anything to him, seein' you was over to Larkins's, and said he was out of town. I'd hate to think he done anything like that." "That hobo was gone when I went to talk to him this morning. The lock was busted. I can't figure it out. Young Lorry stood to win the reward, and he could use the money." "Hear anything by wire?" queried the undersheriff. "Nothing.
Someone unlocked the door. And, to the viscount's astonishment, the procession that was on its way to the gallows entered his presence. There was Frisbie, still unbound, but guarded by a half a dozen policemen and turnkeys, and attended by the undersheriff of the county, and the warden and the chaplain of the prison.
It is immaterial whether he rouses the undersheriff or finds a policeman; but he is to give information that he has just seen Johnson at liberty, skulking near such-and-such a place. Such information, from a man so recently the victim of a wanton assault at Johnson's hands, will seem a natural act." "Mr. Mitchell, you're a wonder!" declared Joey in a fine heat of admiration.
The brothers Poole were regarded with much disfavor by Undersheriff Barton, who made the arrest; but their appearance bore out their story. It was plain that some one had battered them. Mr. Johnson quite won the undersheriff's esteem by his seemly bearing after the arrest.
A few blocks up the street, Buck Hardy was seated in his office talking with the undersheriff. The undersheriff twisted the end of his black mustache and looked wise. "They told me at the hotel that he had gone riding with them Easterners," said Hardy. "And now you say he's been in town all day working on that automobile." "Yep. He's been to the blacksmith twice to-day.
Hardy indicated that he wanted to speak to Lorry, and he included Waring in his gesture. Lorry rose and glanced quickly at Alice Weston. She was leaning forward in her chair, suddenly aware of a subtle undercurrent of seriousness. The undersheriff was patting the nose of the big buckskin. The men stepped down from the veranda, and stood near the horses. "That hobo got away," said the sheriff.
The man didn't get by on any of the trains. I notified both stations. He's afoot and he's gone." "Well, I guess the kid loses out, eh?" "That ain't all. This county will jump me for letting that guy get away. It won't help us any next election." "Well, my idea is to have a talk with Adams," said the undersheriff. "I'm going to do that. I like the kid, and then there's his mother "
As he swung round the first corner he waved something that looked strangely like a club in a kind of farewell salute. Alice Weston had risen. The undersheriff grabbed the reins of the horse nearest him and mounted. Hardy ran to the other horse. Side by side they raced down the street and disappeared round a corner. "What is it?" queried Alice Weston. Waring still sat on the steps.
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