Strong in my resolve, I walked briskly toward the town, and, coming out of the swamp, I was still strong, but my heart fluttered when from a rise of ground I saw the Senator's house, far away. To the left of the road lay a piece of land, wild with briers and a growth of new timber, a thicket checkered with cattle paths. Up the road I saw a man coming, and, as he drew nearer, I recognized the slouching figure of Bugg Peters. I did not care to meet him, to be compelled to answer or evade his questions, so I turned aside into the thicket and brushed my way along a narrow path. On a sudden I leaped aside into a tangle of bushes. A pistol or gun had fired it seemed almost at my elbow. I listened, but heard not a sound. I thought I saw smoke arising off to my left, but it might have been mist, for the day was dark with vapors and low-hanging clouds. I was uneasy, and not knowing whither my path might lead, I turned back; and just as I reached the road a man and a boy, struggling through the undergrowth, ran past me. They said nothing, but, looking back with fright in their faces, ran off toward town. I looked about for Peters, but did not see him. I wondered what it all could mean. Upon entering the town I avoided the busier streets, and passed through quiet by-ways. At the foot of the rear stairway leading to my room stood a man. "Hold on," he said, and then shouted to someone above. A man came running down the steps. "What's wanted?" I inquired. "You," replied one of the men. "Come with us." "But what do you want?" "Come on quietly and you'll find out. Do you want us to handcuff you?" I went with them, stupefied with astonishment. They would answer no questions. They took me to the jail, and then I was informed that I had been arrested on a warrant sworn out by J. W. Hilliard, charging me with the murder of Thomas Estell. In a daze I was pushed into a cell. I couldn't think; I had an impression that I had lost a part--the serious part--of my mind. I looked at the little things about me, a burnt match on the floor, a cobweb in an upper corner. I took up a tin candlestick and picked at a ridge of sperm; I sat down upon a cot, wondering if it would break under me, and I felt it shake and spring like the spongeland in the swamp. I heard the tavern bells ring, and I heard the tradesmen slamming their doors. And I even said to myself, "I shall be horror-stricken when I realize it all." There came footsteps down the corridor, and I heard someone say, "All right, I won't stay long. Turn up your lamp. I can't see him." The blaze of a lamp hanging in the corridor crept higher and I saw the shoemaker standing in front of my grated door. "Mr. Belford, this is rough." "Yes, it will be when I am able to believe it." "I reckon it's so, and it won't take you long to believe it. But if you ever had cause to be cool, you've got that cause now. Brighten up. Several people have called to see you--the nigger preacher, too--but they couldn't get in."