Part 13 (1/2)

And he takes from the little shelf the tattered book. The girl stands still as stone, with the engine of death in her hand. The officer bows, smiles, reaches the book with his left hand, lays his cap on the table, and lifts his right hand in the air. Her little fingers reach out firmly, fearlessly, and rest on the book. Her eyes are looking straight into his.

”It may be my duty, Miss, to search the house, after what that 'un has said, and, Miss, I expect it is my duty. But, Miss, I is not the man to expose you before a man as might like to see you exposed. And then that poor devil that come back here, Miss, on bleeding feet--crawling back here on his hands and knees, to die by his mother's grave.”

The voice is tremulous; the hand that is raised in the air comes down.

Then lifting it again he says resolutely, ”Swear, Miss!”

All are looking--leaning--with the profoundest interest. There is a dark strange face peering through a rift in the half-opened curtain. ”G.o.d bless her! G.o.d bless her! She can, and she will!” mutters Forty-nine.

”She can't!” cries Dosson. ”She believes the book and, by gol, she can't!” The man says this over his shoulder, and in a husky whisper as the girl seems to pause.

”Hold your hand on the book, and swear as I shall tell you,” says the sheriff.

She only holds more firmly to the book; her eyes are fixed more steadily on his.

”Say it as I say it. I do solemnly swear--”

”I do solemnly swear--”

”That John Logan--”

”That John Logan--”

”Is not here.”

”Is--”

”Is _here_!” The curtain is thrown back, and the fugitive dashes into their midst. The book falls from the sheriff's hand, and there is a murmur of amazement.

”G.o.d bless you, my girl!” And there is the stillness of a Sabbath morning over all. ”G.o.d bless you; and G.o.d will reward you for this, for I cannot. You have made me another being, Carrie. I have lost my life, but you have saved my soul!” and turning cheerfully to the sheriff he reaches his hands. ”Now, sir, I am ready.”

CHAPTER VI.

THE ESCAPE.

_O tranquil moon! O pitying moon!

Put forth thy cool, protecting palms, And cool their eyes with cooling alms, Against the burning tears of noon._

_O saintly, noiseless-footed nun!

O sad-browed patient mother, keep Thy homeless children while they sleep, And kiss them, weeping, every one._

At first there was a loud demonstration against Logan by the mob, that always gathers about where a man is captured by his fellows--the wolves that come up when the wounded buffalo falls. There was talk of a vigilance committee and of lynching.

But when the stout, resolute sheriff led the man in chains down the trail through the deep snow, and turned him over to the officer in charge of a little squad of soldiers at the other side of the valley, no man interfered further. Indeed, Dosson and Emens were too anxious about the promised reward to make any demonstration against this man's life now. He was worth to them a thousand dollars.

A lawyer reading this, will smile here at the loose way in which the law was administered there in the outer edge of the world at that time. Here is a sheriff, with a warrant in his pocket, made returnable to a magistrate. The sheriff arrests the man on this warrant and takes him directly to the military authorities, which have been so long seeking him, utterly unconscious that he is doing aught but the proper thing.

And yet, after all, it was the shortest and best course to take.

I shall not forget the face of the prisoner as we stood beside the trail in the snow, while he was led past down the mouth of the canyon toward the other side of the valley. It was grand!