“Under the same circumstances, yes,” Garner grinned. “But it is circumstances that make things what they are in this world, and I tell you that fellow needs circumstances worse than any man I ever saw. He is worried. I stopped and watched him as he walked on with her, and I declare it looked to me like he kicked himself under his long coat at every step. Say, look! Isn't that Pole Baker across the street? The fellow behind the gray horse. Yes, that's who it is. I'll call him. He may have news from the mountains.” Answering the summons, Baker led his horse across the street to where the two friends stood waiting on the edge of the pavement. “Have they heard of the arrest over there, Pole?” Garner asked. “Yes,” the farmer drawled out. “I was at George Wilson's store this morning, where a big gang was waiting for food supplies from their homes. Dan Willis fetched the report--by-the-way, fellows, just between us three, I'll bet he was the skunk that fired that shot. I'm pretty sure of it, from what I've picked up from some of his pals.” “But what are they going to do?” Carson asked, anxiously. “That's exactly what I come in town to tell you,” answered the mountaineer. “They are taking entirely a new tack. A report has leaked out that Sam Dudlow was seen prowling about Johnson's just 'fore dark the night of the murder, and they are dead on his track. They are concentrating their forces to catch him, and, since Pete Warren is safe in jail, they say they are going to let 'im stay thar awhile anyway.” “Good!” Garner cried, rubbing his hands together. “We've got two chances, now, my boy--to prove Pete innocent at court or by their catching the right man. In my opinion, Dudlow is the coon that did the Job, and I believe he did it alone. Pete is too chicken-hearted and he's been too well brought up. Now let's get to work. You go talk to the prisoner, Carson, and put him through that honeyfugling third degree of yours. He'll confess if he did it, and if he did, may the Lord have mercy on his soul! I won't help defend him.” “That's whar I stand,” Pole Baker said. “It's enough trouble savin' _innocent_ niggers these days without bothering over the guilty. Shyster lawyers tryin' to protect the bad ones for a little fee is at the bottom of all this lawlessness anyway.” CHAPTER XXIII. [Illustration: 9205] S the prisoner's counsel, Carson had no difficulty in seeing him. At the outer door of the red brick structure, with its slate roof and dormer windows, Dwight met Burt Barrett, the jailer, a tall though strong young man, who had once lived in the mountains and had been a moonshiner, and was noted for his grim courage in any emergency. “I understand the trial is set for to-morrow,” he remarked, as he opened the outer door which led into a hallway at the end of which was the portion of the house in which he lived with his wife and children. “Yes,” Carson replied; “the judge has telegraphed that he will come without fail.”