Escape as yet appeared impossible, and Tooly must have finally come to a definite realization that he was in the hands of men who meant business, most earnestly. Bravado had ceased to figure in his conduct. It was apparent that the search for evidence was narrowing its field; the erstwhile minions of frontier justice were on the right scent. Tooly grew pallid of feature and his cheeks hollowed perceptibly, in a moment. There was a wild glare in his eyes, as they turned from side to side; fear, hatred, viciousness, mingled in every glance. He crouched, not designedly, but as if an involuntary action of the muscles drew him together. His fists were clenched; his mouth partly opened, as if he would speak, but could not. Thus he stood, half erect, while the officer searched his clothing. The examination disclosed that, secured in a buckskin belt, worn under his outer garments, there was English gold coin, to the value of five hundred dollars; just one-third of the amount that Mr. Wood declared he had lost at the time of the robbery. What became of the other two-thirds of Mr. Wood's money was readily inferred, but full proof of it was not necessary to this case. Tooly's trial was closed. The only instruction the court gave the jury was, "Gentlemen, you have heard the testimony and seen the evidence; what is your verdict?" The answer came, as the voice of one man, "Guilty." During the entire proceeding, at the post and down by the lake, the judge sat astride his mule. Addressing the prisoner once more from his elevated "bench," he said: "Mr. Tooly, you are found guilty of the murder of Mrs. Wood and her child, the wounding of Mr. Wood, and robbery of his wagon. Mr. Wood has from the first stated his belief that you were with, and the leader of, the band of Indians which attacked his party. You afterwards denied it; but now, in addition to his almost positive identification, and many circumstances pointing to your guilt, you are found with the fruits of that robbery on your person. Have you anything to say?" [Illustration: "'Stop,' shouted the Judge"] Tooly was ashy pale, and speechless. Absolute silence reigned for a time, as the court awaited the prisoner's reply, if by any means he could offer some explanation, some possible extenuating circumstance, that might affect the judgment to be pronounced. None came, and the judge continued: "You can have your choice, to be shot, or hanged to the uplifted tongue of a wagon. Which do you choose?" Tooly took the risk of immediate death, in seeking one last, desperate chance for life. Instantly he turned half around, crouched for a spring, and, seemingly by one single leap, went nearly past the rock-pile, so that it partly covered his retreat. Quick as his movements were, they were not swifter than those of the men whose duty was to prevent his escape.