“We can tell better what yuh killed him with after we sees the re-mains,” replies Bill. “I can’t help jailing yuh, Whit. It’s the law. If you’re innocent, yuh ain’t got nothing to fear. I got Scenery Sims down there now, so yuh won’t get lonesome.” “What did Scenery do?” asks the old man. “Disturbed the peace. This place is law-abiding, if yuh asks me. Just for the looks of the thing we’ll take Doc Milliken along, while we gets your victim’s body. Where did yuh say this here dastardly deed was done?” “It wasn’t dastardly!” whoops the old man. “It was accidental, I tell yuh! It happens near where the old pack-trail leaves the main road. You know where that is?” “I know. Wait a minute, fellers, and I’ll be with yuh.” He takes the old man and goes off down toward the jail, and when he comes back they all gets in that wagon and rattles off down the road. The old man must a been rattled, ’cause it happens a long ways this side of the pack-trail end. That’s where I leaves Muley and Telescope. Mike and Calamity stands there on the porch as the wagon leaves, and I hears Mike yell at Bill: “Hey, Bill! Be sure and get back before sunrise on account of them salutes.” “What salutes is them?” asks Calamity. “Bill’s got ’em down in the jail. He’s got five ten-gallon kerosene cans full of water down there, and in each can is six sticks of dynamite, wrapped in canvas and covered with axle-grease. They’re all ready to touch off. Some salute, eh? Now, if Bill’s late we won’t have our sunrise salute.” They goes back inside. I looks at my watch, and sees that it’s danged near morning, and at the same time I gets a happy idea. I ambles back to the autymobile, and finds Chuck setting on the seat, holding his head in his hands. “Henry,” says he, “how came I here, and why am I so dry?” “I brought yuh here, Chuck, and I hid the jug under the wagon.” I gives him a shock and he gets enthusiastic. “Chuck,” says I, “would yuh like to hear a big, big noise?” “That’s the idea, Henry—a great big noise. Can’t be too big. Where yuh going to get it?” I tells him about them loaded cans down at the jail, and he’s for me. We enthuses over the jug a little more, and then goes down to the jail. I posts Chuck about a hundred feet from the jail, and tells him to watch for anybody coming from town. * * * * * The Paradise jail ain’t much. It’s one story, mostly dobe, and stands way out from any other shack, a grim reminder that there still is law and order—at times. A strong man might kick the walls loose if they wasn’t afraid the roof would fall on ’em. I takes a rock and busts the padlock. There’s only one cell in the place, and when I lights a match I sees the faces of Scenery Sims and the old man. I busts the lock off the cell door, and lets ’em out. “Vamoose!” I whispers. “Get a-going. We don’t want no lynching in Paradise on the Fourth of July.” “But, Henry—” squeaks Scenery.