This disastrous expedition ended the attempts of the local authorities to capture Israel Drake. Thenceforth he pursued his natural course without pretense of let or hindrance. At the time when this story begins, no fewer than fourteen warrants were out for his apprehension, issued on charges ranging from burglary and highway robbery through a long list of felonies. But the warrants, slowly accumulating, lay in the bottom of official drawers, apprehending nothing but dust. No one undertook to serve them. Life was too sweet--too short. Then came a turn of fate. Israel chanced to bethink himself of a certain aged farmer living with his old wife near a spot called Lee's Cross-Road. The two dwelt by themselves, without companions on their farm, and without neighbors. And they were reputed to have money. The money might not be much--might be exceedingly little. But, even so, Israel could use it, and in any event there would be the fun of the trick. So Israel summoned one Carey Morrison, a gifted mate and subordinate, with whom he proceeded to act. At dead of night the two broke into the farmhouse--crept into the chamber of the old pair--crept softly, softly, lest the farmer might keep a shotgun by his side. Sneaking to the foot of the bed, Israel suddenly flashed his lantern full upon the pillows--upon the two pale, deep-seamed faces crowned with silver hair. The woman sat up with a piercing scream. The farmer clutched at his gun. But Israel, bringing the glinting barrel of his revolver into the lantern's shaft of light, ordered both to lie down. Carey, slouching at hand, awaited orders. "Where is your money?" demanded Israel, indicating the farmer by the point of his gun. "I have no money, you coward!" "It's no use your lying to me. _Where's the money?_" "I have no money, I tell you." "Carey," observed Israel, "hunt a candle." While Carey looked for the candle, Israel surveyed his victims with a cheerful, anticipatory grin. The candle came; was lighted. "Carey," Israel spoke again, "you pin the old woman down. Pull the quilt off. Clamp her feet together. So!" Then he thrust the candle-flame against the soles of those gnarled old feet--thrust it close, while the flame bent upward, and the melting tallow poured upon the bed. The woman screamed again, this time in pain. The farmer half rose, with a quivering cry of rage, but Israel's gun stared him between the eyes. The woman screamed without interval. There was a smell of burning flesh. "Now we'll change about," remarked Israel, beaming. "I'll hold the old feller. You take the candle, Carey. You don't reely need your gun--now, do ye, boy?" And so they began afresh. It was not a game to last long. Before dawn the two were back in their own place, bearing the little all of value that the rifled house had contained.