"How did you get in?" "The jailer owes me. Yes, and I worked my prerogative because I thought you'd like to see even a shoemaker." "Tell me--tell me all about it." "Why, Hilliard and his son was coming through the thicket. They heard a pistol close to them, they stumbled on Estell lying dead in the path, and they saw you making for the big road. And that slab-sided Peters says he saw you turn into the thicket. He heard the shot, and he ran in to see what was up, but couldn't find anything. It is a shame the way both those fellows were permitted to stand around and talk about it. It has made them mighty important. I dangled a debt over Bugg's head and silenced him, but I couldn't do anything with Hilliard. That scoundrel paid me about two months ago. Bad! It puts the Senator in an awkward position. He can't express an opinion, you know. Good thing he's away, gunning after Petticord. Oh, Bolanyo is coming up. They found Estell with his head almost blown off. Seems as if somebody must have poked a pistol out of the bushes almost against the side of his head. I am telling you all this so you may in a measure be prepared at the inquest to-morrow morning. His watch and some small change was found, so it wasn't a murder for gain. No pistol was found on him, so he wasn't expecting a fight." "Look here, Vark, you don't believe I killed that man?" "I haven't said so, but I'll tell you this--the people believe it. You know it takes a great deal of argument to prove a stranger innocent and mighty little evidence to show him guilty. In an old community it's a great crime to be a stranger. Well, I must go. The best thing you can do is to keep your head cool." CHAPTER XXIII. THE RINGING OF THE BELL. I sat down, in a full sense of it all, and reasoned upon the ugly happenings that stood to accuse me. Coincidents sometimes fit snugger than arrangements that have been carefully planned; they slip into place with a perverse trueness of adjustment. Thus I speculated, and I was astonished at my coolness. I turned about from my argument to notice that a heavy rain was falling. The courthouse bell was ringing furiously. The jailor came hastening down the corridor. "What does that bell mean?" I inquired. "God help you man, it means you!" he cried. "The signal for the mob." "What! To hang me?" "Yes, and I can't help you." "But you can turn me out. Open this door!" "I can't do that, Sir. They would hang me. They are coming." There were no cries outside. There was the heavy tramping of feet and a tap on the door as if a quiet visitor sought admission. "Who is that?" the jailor demanded, walking slowly down the corridor. "Open the door, Hill." "But who is it?" "A party of friends. Open the door to your neighbors." "But is it to the law--the sheriff?" "The sheriff is locked up in the courthouse. We want to be quiet about this thing, but--the sledge, Dave." "Hold on, boys, don't break the door. What do you want?" "A man."