As she stood looking after him, a dog's whine came from the cabin. She ran and released the spaniel and took him up in her arms. As she did so a sparkle caught her eye. It came from the tiny gold cross lying where Hugh had flung it, near the lighted doorway. She picked it up, looked at it a moment abstractedly and thrust it into her pocket--scarce consciously, for her heart was keeping time to the silenced hoof-beat that was bearing the man she loved from danger. Where the way opened into the gloomy cut of Funeral Hollow, Harry dismounted and went forward slowly afoot, leading the horse, till a figure stepped from a clump of bushes to meet him with an exclamation of relief. Hugh had waited at the rendezvous in shivering apprehension and dismal suspicion of Harry's intentions, and had not approached till he had convinced himself that the other came alone. He wrung Harry's hand as he said: "If I get out of this, I'll do better the rest of my life, I will, upon my soul, Harry!" "You may not be able to get into the chapel," said Harry; "my rooms"--he felt his cheek burn as he spoke--"may be occupied. On the chance that you fail, take this." He took off the ruby ring, whose interlaced initials had once fortified him in his error of identity. "The stone is worth a good deal. It should be enough to take you anywhere." Hugh nodded, slipped the ring on his finger, and rode quickly off. Then Harry turned and walked rapidly back toward the town. CHAPTER XXXV FELDER TAKES A CASE The sheriff stopped his automobile before the dingy telegraph office. The street had been ringing that evening with more exciting events than it had known in a year. "He's off," he said disgustedly to the men who had curiously gathered. "He must have got wind of it somehow, and he had a horse ready. We traced the hoof-prints from the cabin as far as the Hollow. I'm going to use the wire." "That's a lie!" rumbled an angry voice behind him, as Devlin strode into the crowd. "Hugh Stires gave himself up fifteen minutes ago at the jail." "How do you know that?" demanded the sheriff, relieved but chagrined at his fool's-errand. "Because I saw him do it," answered Devlin surlily. "I was there." "Well, it saves trouble for me. That'll tickle you, Felder," the sheriff added satirically, turning toward the lawyer. "You're a sentimentalist, and he's been your special fancy. What do you think now, eh?" "I'll tell you what _I_ think," said Devlin, his big hands working. "I think it's a damned lie of Prendergast's!" "Oh, ho!" exclaimed the sheriff amusedly. "You once danced to a different tune, Devlin!" The blood was in the big, lowering face. "I did," he admitted. "I went up against him when the liquor was in me, and by the same token he wiped this street with me. He stood me fair and he whipped me, and I needed it, though I hated him well enough afterwards. An'--an'--" He gulped painfully. No one spoke.