Following as closely as he could under cover of the timber, he found that, after picking its way among the trees for a mile, it stopped before a small log cabin, of whose existence Jim had never known before. There were some groans plainly audible as Jim saw one man get out of the wagon and half carry and half drag another man into the hut. A moment later, and a streak of light appeared under the door of the hut, and there seemed to be no windows in the structure; if there were, they were covered. Jim remained behind a sheltering tree for what seemed two hours, and then stealthily approached the wagon. No one was in it. Then he removed his boots and stole on tip-toe to the hut. At first he could find no chink or crevice through which to look, but finally, on one side of the log chimney, he spied a ray of light. Approaching the hole and applying his eye to it, Jim beheld a picture that startled him into utter dumbness. On the floor of the hut, which was entirely bare, lay a middle-aged man, with one arm bandaged and bleeding. Seated on the floor, holding the head of the wounded man, and raining kisses upon it, sat Bunker County’s sheriff! Then Jim heard some conversation which did not in the least allay his astonishment. “Don’t cry, daughter,” said the wounded man, faintly, “I deserve to be shot by you—I haven’t wronged any one else half so much as I have you.” Again the wounded man received a shower of kisses, and hot tears fell rapidly upon his face. “Arrest me—take me back—send me to State’s prison,” continued the man; “nobody has so good a right. Then I’ll feel as if your mother was honestly avenged. I’ll feel better if you’ll promise to do it.” “Father, dear,” said the sheriff, “I might have suspected it was you—oh! if I _had_ have done! But I thought—I hoped I had got away from the reach of the cursed business for ever. I’ve endured everything—I’ve nearly died of loneliness, to avoid it, and then to think that I should have hurt my own father.” “You’re your mother’s own daughter, Nellie,” said the counterfeiter; “it takes all the pain away to know that I haven’t ruined _you_—that _some_ member of my wretched family is honest. I’d be happy in a prisoner’s box if I could look at you and feel that you put me there.” “You sha’n’t be made happy in that way,” said the sheriff. I’ve got you again, and I’m going to keep you to myself. I’ll nurse you here—you say that nobody ever found this hut but—but the gang, and when you’re better the wagon shall take us both to some place where we can live or starve together. The county can get another sheriff easy enough.” “And they’ll suspect you of being in league with counterfeiters,” said the father. “They may suspect me of anything they like!” exclaimed the sheriff, “so you love me and be—be your own best self and my good father. But this bare hut—not a comfort that you need—no food—nothing—oh, if there was only some one who had a heart, and could help us!”