“I threw him in the creek,” he said, angrily. “You are under arrest. Come, we are going to take you to Georgetown.” The sheriff caught him by the arm. “What! for killing a dog, and a yellow dog at that?” He scowled blackly and fiercely. “I’m in hopes you won’t get me into court about this matter. I am willing to pay for it,” he said in a husky voice. “Very likely you will be called upon to pay--in full, but I will protect you to the extent of my authority. Hurry up! we’ve no time to lose. It is late and it’s going to rain.” The negro cast his eyes wildly about him, the last mechanical resource of despair, but saw nothing else to do. Mounting the prisoner handcuffed behind him, the sheriff was soon off for the Scott county jail, one of the party being sent ahead to have the Carr cook in waiting. The negro had nothing to say, but rode on in savage silence, his head dropped forward on his breast. CHAPTER XVII. A storm was gathering and the sheriff thought by hard riding he might reach the nearest railway station before it broke. He knew his prisoner’s life depended upon his getting him to a place of safety with all speed. The whole country was alive with armed men. Far off the ordnance of the sky boomed as the battle of the elements began. The lightning cut the clouds and soon the rain came, a dark falling wall. As far as the eye could bore into the darkness, only one light could be seen. They dared not take shelter under the roof of any man. So the sheriff and his men rode on through the storm, picking their way as best they could. Drenched and fagged, they reached the station only to find that the Elkhorn trestle had sustained some damage and in consequence delayed the Georgetown train. It would probably be three hours before the wreck could be repaired. The position of the sheriff was now serious; he could not think of such folly as remaining there at the mercy of the telegraph wires; he must try to make the trip by the river road and that, too, before daybreak. A pint of whiskey was brought from the little corner saloon and the party determined to start out again. The horses still bearing marks of hard riding stood in waiting. As they set off the rain ceased, the clouds broke and the moon came out brightly. Soon the sheriff thought he heard the sound of a gun, the signal that the searchers were on his track. They quickened their pace. “We are treed, I am afraid,” he said to his companions, and he could almost see the mob surrounding them, and their pitiless joy after the humiliation of having for awhile lost the trail. The prisoner began to show signs of anxiety. Every sound startled him and he kept looking expectantly about. The men urged their horses and rode on in a state of nervous tension to the ford where they must cross the river. It was away out of its banks. They halted and there was a moment’s silence. “She looks pretty high. What do you say?” asked the sheriff of one of his deputies.