“They’re after him,” replied the latter nervously. “The sheriff’s caught him. They’re going now to try to take him away from him, or that’s what they say. The sheriff is taking him over to Clayton, by way of Baldwin. I want to get over there if I can. Give me the horse again, and I’ll give you a couple of dollars more.” The liveryman led the horse out, but not without many provisionary cautions as to the care which was to be taken of him, the damages which would ensue if it were not. He was not to be ridden beyond midnight. If one were wanted for longer than that Davies must get him elsewhere or come and get another, to all of which Davies promptly agreed. He then mounted and rode away. When he reached the corner again several of the men who had gone for their horses were already there, ready to start. The young man who had brought the news had long since dashed off to other parts. Davies waited to see which road this new company would take. Then through as pleasant a country as one would wish to see, up hill and down dale, with charming vistas breaking upon the gaze at every turn, he did the riding of his life. So disturbed was the reporter by the grim turn things had taken that he scarcely noted the beauty that was stretched before him, save to note that it was so. Death! Death! The proximity of involuntary and enforced death was what weighed upon him now. In about an hour the company had come in sight of the sheriff, who, with two other men, was driving a wagon he had borrowed along a lone country road. The latter was sitting at the back, a revolver in each hand, his face toward the group, which at sight of him trailed after at a respectful distance. Excited as every one was, there was no disposition, for the time being at least, to halt the progress of the law. “He’s in that wagon,” Davies heard one man say. “Don’t you see they’ve got him in there tied and laid down?” Davies looked. “That’s right,” said another. “I see him now.” “What we ought to do,” said a third, who was riding near the front, “is to take him away and hang him. That’s just what he deserves, and that’s what he’ll get before we’re through to-day.” “Yes!” called the sheriff, who seemed to have heard this. “You’re not goin’ to do any hangin’ this day, so you just might as well go on back.” He did not appear to be much troubled by the appearance of the crowd. “Where’s old man Whitaker?” asked one of the men who seemed to feel that they needed a leader. “He’d get him quick enough!” “He’s with the other crowd, down below Olney,” was the reply. “Somebody ought to go an’ tell him.” “Clark’s gone,” assured another, who hoped for the worst.