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Early in the morning, while the earth was still a mass of gray shadow and mist, and the sky had only begun to show faint signs of the flush of dawn, Betty, awake and alert, crept softly out of bed, not to awaken Martha, who slept the sleep of utter weariness at her side. Martha had returned only the day before from her visit to her grandfather's, a long carriage ride away from Leauvite.
"I, G. B. Stiles, detective, in the employ of Peter Craigmile, of the town of Leauvite, for the capture of the murderer of his son, Peter Craigmile, Jr., do hereby promise one Nels Nelson, Swede, in the employ of Mr Decker, hotel proprietor, as stable man, for services rendered in the identification of said criminal at such time as he should be found, Now, what service have you rendered?
By Monday evening there were only two people in all the small town of Leauvite who had not heard of the tragedy, and these were Hester Craigmile and Betty Ballard.
Then one difficulty after another intervened, beginning with a great fire in the fall which swept away Martha's home and all they had accumulated, together with her husband's school, rendering it necessary for the young couple to go back to Leauvite for the winter. "Never mind, Betty, dear," Martha had encouraged her.
"I know the Elder fairly well every one in Leauvite knows him, but I can't say as I've ever taken particular notice of his boy, and, anyway, the boy was murdered three years ago a little over for it was in the fall of the year well, that's most four years and I must say it's a mighty clever dodge, as Mr. Stiles says, for you to play off this on us. It's a matter that will bear looking into.
He was an alert, bright-eyed young chap with a smiling face. "Good afternoon, Mr. Copeland. Any news for me to-day?" Mr. Copeland was an elderly man of great dignity, and almost as much of a figure there as the Elder himself. It was an act of great temerity to approach him for items of news for the Leauvite Mercury. Of this fact the young reporter seemed to be blithely ignorant.
He is Peter Junior. Can't you see he is Peter, the Elder's son?" "But how do you know him?" "Because it is he. I know him the way we always know people by just knowing them. He is Peter Junior." "Have you seen the prisoner before since his return to Leauvite?" "Yes, I went to the jail and I saw him, and I knew him." "But give a reason for your knowledge. How did you know him?"
"Then I will tell one great lie father and do it even if if it should drag me down to hell. I will say I am married to Richard and will swear to it." Bertrand was silent, aghast. "Father! Where is Richard?" "He is there in Leauvite, in jail. You must do what is right in the eye of God, my child, and tell the truth." "If I tell the truth, they will do what is right in their own eyes.
But it still is very slowly we go when I measure with my thoughts the swiftness. In my thoughts we should fly fly!" "It will be only three days to Chicago from here, and then one night at a hotel to rest and clean up, and the next day we are there in Leauvite think of it! We're an hour late by the schedule, so better think of something else. We'll reach an eating station soon.
I doubt if any one here in Leauvite ever heard of it, but it's the irony of fate that he was more badly scarred by it than I. He was struck by a spent bullet that tore the flesh only, while the one that hit me went cleanly to the bone, and splintered it. Mine laid me up for a year before I could even walk with crutches, while he was back at his post in a week."
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