“Stop! men, stop!” The sheriff’s voice was heard eagerly hailing those on the opposite side. “You will risk your lives to try to cross here.” The quivering negro, terrified by the idea that the pursuers were upon them, made an effort to rise. “My God! don’t let them take me! Don’t give me up!” There was something savage and frenzied in the accent that went with those words. He clutched at the sheriff’s knees, his eyes became wild and fixed and filled with terror. “We must have your prisoner,” someone shouted. “Will you surrender him?” “Not yet,” was the sheriff’s answer. “I deliver him only to the law.” “You’ll give him up!” cried a score of determined voices. “Never! Never!” “Then we will fire on him!” Like a flash, the sheriff jumped in front of his prisoner. “Fire ahead,” he said. The next instant, there were a number of reports. All but one had fired in the air. “Cowards!” yelled the leader, “kill ’em all!” “Look here,” answered one, “that sheriff lives neighbor to me.” “We’re out for the nigger, not a white man!” said another. “Wait boys, we’ll get him yet!” The sheriff calmly mounted, forming a bar between the rifles and his prisoner and rode away, leaving the mob to await the fall of the stream. Half an hour later they reached the jail. “Chloe Carr,” the sheriff distinctly pronounced her name, as he summoned the negro cook, “did you ever see this man before?” “Yas, sah.” “Will you tell me when and where?” The prisoner made a desperate sign, his fiendish face blazing with mingled rage and terror. Wildly he shook his head. “She lies!” he growled, with a sudden threatening movement. “She never saw me before.” An animal-like snarl came from his throat. His face was shining with sweat, the veins of his neck were twisted and knotted. His body shook with savage fear, and the woman trembled. She said excitedly: “He’s de one I saw pass de do’ awhile befo’ Miss Dor’thy was found dead. I give him a drink ov water.” The prisoner was in a frenzy now. Fiercely he glared like a great black beast, caged. The woman saw the officers fairly carry him into the cell, but she felt less fear than sorrow now, as her heart was full of the memory of the girl she had loved and had watched from the cradle-side. CHAPTER XVIII. Elliott Harding was coming home--home to Dorothy, and joy was so strong within him that it almost touched the edge of tears. The rising sun was trying hard to struggle out of a bluish haze, as he stepped from the train at Georgetown. Nodding to a negro driver, he walked to the hack, saying, “Drive me to my office, first, then you may take me out to Mr. Carr’s.” The negro cast a glance behind, and stammered excitedly, as he mounted to the seat: “Boss, dey’s erbout to mob yo’ man--de moonshiner dat you like ter got hung, I reck’n. Dey’s done at de jail by now.”