So I alighted with him, but in passing, I met “Spress” Babbitt, whom I well knew. He averted his face--purposely, I could see; and I wondered at it. He was the express messenger on the train. I realized that Stebbins had been notified by telegraph that I was a passenger on the way to Charlestown, and that some one who knew me pretty well must have been the informer. “How did you know I was on the train?” I asked Stebbins. “‘Spress’ Babbitt seen ye on the platform outen th’ car winder at Bellows Falls.’” “And telegraphed on to you?” “Thet’s the size on’t,” grinned Stebbins. I felt like pulling his whiskers, he seemed to enjoy the situation so much. I wasn’t alarmed over the outcome, but I didn’t relish being held up to view in that community after I had gone through so much trouble to fix things. “And,” I went on sneeringly, “they held the train here until you came?” “Thet’s wot ‘Spress’ sed he’d dew, an’ he done et, b’ gosh!” I could have choked Babbitt had I had his little chicken neck in my hands at the moment. “I hed tew drive five mile, en like sixty, tew,” Stebbins said, as he walked me to a steaming team at the side of the depot. At my request he drove to Eagle Hotel, where I got him in excellent humor through frequent libations in the bar-room. “Wal, b’ gummany Christmus!” he finally said, with a silly grin, “I give ye more credit ’an ye hev. Thought ye’d hev better sense ’an t’ run kerslam inter my paws. I’ve ben waitin’ t’ git my hooks onter ye ever sense ye bruck outen jail.” The rascal! I saw at once that he had his mind on getting a reward for my capture, evidently not having heard that both indictments had been done away with. “Ah, Stebbins, my good fellow, I see you’re after the thousand,” I said, after he had finished taking his measure of my shrewdness. “Ye kin betcher bottom cent on’t--sartin! Why not?” “That’s so, sheriff! Yes; why not?” I returned, laughingly. “But what are you going to do with me first?” “I ruther guess it’s on’y a bit o’ a trot fer my team back t’ jail ye bruck from--sorter like twenty odd mile!” he said, grinning and slapping his hands together in great delight. “I hope you won’t be in too much of a hurry, Mr. Stebbins. Now, I’m going to ask you as a favor to find out from District Attorney Lane whether or not he wants me. It may be he doesn’t. Do you know?” “Want ye? Glory and snakes! Sartin, he wants ye!” “If you don’t mind, sheriff,” I suggested, “I’ll telegraph him. Do you object?” “Sartin no--no objecshuns!” He seemed to relish his liquor. “I like your ways, Mr. Stebbins,” I said with a smile, and added, “When we get through telegraphing District Attorney Lane, we’ll have something to eat, and more to drink, too, if you feel like it.” Then I wrote the following to F. F. Lane: “Sheriff Stebbins claims to have me under arrest here--do you want me?--wire at my expense.”