"What is it?" they clamored impatiently. "Speak quick!" There was another

harmless shot from a fugitive, and then the Cross-Roaders, divining that

the diversion was in their favor, secured themselves in their decrepit

fastnesses and held their fire. Meanwhile, the flames crackled cheerfully

in Plattville ears. No matter what the prosecutor had to say, at least the

Skillett saloon and homestead were gone, and Bob Skillett and one other

would be sick enough to be good for a while.

"Listen," cried Warren Smith, and, rising in his stirrups again, read the

missive in his hand, a Western Union telegraph form. "Warren Smith,

Plattville," was the direction. "Found both shell-men. Police familiar

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with both, and both wanted here. One arrested at noon in a second-hand

clothes store, wearing Harkless's hat, also trying dispose torn full-dress

coat known to have been worn by Harkless last night. Stains on lining

believed blood. Second man found later at freight-yards in empty lumber

car left Plattville 1 P.M., badly hurt, shot, and bruised. Supposed

Harkless made hard fight. Hurt man taken to hospital unconscious. Will

die. Hope able question him first and discover whereabouts body. Other man

refuses talk so far. Check any movement Cross-Roads. This clears Skillett,

etc. Come over on 9.15."

The telegram was signed by Homer and by Barrett, the superintendent of

police at Rouen.

"It's all a mistake, boys," the lawyer said, as he handed the paper to

Watts and Parker for inspection. "The ladies at the judge's were mistaken,

that's all, and this proves it. It's easy enough to understand: they were

frightened by the storm, and, watching a fence a quarter-mile away by

flashes of lightning, any one would have been confused, and imagined all

the horrors on earth. I don't deny but what I believed it for a while, and

I don't deny but the Cross-Roads is pretty tough, but you've done a good

deal here already, to-day, and we're saved in time from a mistake that

would have turned out mighty bad. This settles it. Homer got a wire from

Rouen to come over there, soon as they got track of the first man; that

was when we saw him on the Rouen accommodation."

A slightly cracked voice, yet a huskily tuneful one, was lifted

quaveringly on the air from the roadside, where an old man and a yellow

dog sat in the dust together, the latter reprieved at the last moment, his

surprised head rakishly garnished with a hasty wreath of dog-fennel

daisies.

"John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the ground,

While we go marching on!"




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