The sheriff examined so eagerly the articles which Jim deposited in rapid succession on the cabin-floor, that Jim had nothing to do but look at the sheriff, which he did industriously, though not exactly to his heart’s content. At last the sheriff looked up, and Jim saw two eyes full of tears, and a pair of lips which parted and trembled in a manner very unbecoming in a sheriff. “Don’t, please,” said Jim, appealingly. “I wish I could have done better for _you_, but somehow I couldn’t think of nothin’ in the house that was fit for a woman, except the scissors.” “Don’t think about me at all,” said the sheriff, quickly. “I care for nothing for myself. Forget that I’m alive.” “I—I can’t,” stammered Jim, looking as guilty as forty counterfeiters rolled into one. The sheriff turned away quickly, while the father called Jim to his side. “Young man,” said he, “you’ve been as good as an angel could have been, but if you suspect _her_ a minute of being my accomplice, may heaven blast you! I taught her engraving, villain that I was, but when she found out what the work really was, I thought she’d have died. She begged and begged that I’d give the business up, and I promised and promised, but it isn’t easy to get out of a crowd of your own kind, particularly when you’re not so much of a man as you should be. At last she got sick of waiting, and ran away—then I grew desperate and worse than ever. I’ve been searching everywhere for her; you don’t suppose a smart—smart counterfeiter has to get rid of his money in the way I’ve been doing, do you? I traced her to this part of the State, and I’ve been going over the roads again and again trying to find her; but I never saw her until she put this hole through my arm last night.” “I hadn’t any idea who you were,” interrupted the sheriff, with a face so full of mingled indignation, pain and tenderness, that Jim couldn’t for the life of him take his eyes from it. “Don’t let any one suspect her, young man,” continued the father. “I’ll stay within reach—deliver me up, if it should be necessary to clear _her_.” “Trust to me,” said Jim. “I know a man when I see him, even if he _is_ a woman.” Two days later the sheriff rode into town, leading behind him the counterfeiter’s horses, with the wagon and its contents, with thousands of dollars in counterfeit money. The counterfeiter had escaped, he said, and he had wounded him. Bunkerville ran wild with enthusiasm, and when the sheriff insisted upon paying out of his own pocket the value of Braymer’s and Williamson’s horses, men of all parties agreed that Charley Mansell should be run for Congress on an independent ticket. But the sheriff declined the honor, and, declaring that he had heard of the serious illness of his father, insisted upon resigning and leaving the country. Like an affectionate son, he purchased some dress-goods, which he said might please his mother, and then he departed, leaving the whole town in sorrow.