We camped on the outskirts of the village, and had hardly finished our simple meal when gusts of wind and great drops of rain proclaimed the coming of the storm. We looked anxiously about for shelter. There were no barns near, but not far from the railroad track stood a house in process of construction, and while doors and windows were lacking, the roof and outside walls gave promise of sufficient protection. To this we hurried and lifted the wheel onto the veranda just as a flood of rain burst upon us. After a little search we found some nail kegs and sat down in the front room. We were dozing when footsteps sounded on the porch. I strained my eyes, but could see nothing in the pitchy blackness. Suddenly a light flashed in my face, the cold muzzle of a pistol pressed my temple, and a hand gripped my arm. “Get up there. None of your tricks now,” snarled a harsh voice. The flash was turned on Dan, who was ordered to throw up his hands by a second man, who flourished a revolver in his left hand. We stumbled to our feet, dazed by the unexpectedness of it all. “You’re under arrest. Better come quietly,” growled the first man gruffly. Dan tried to explain that we had only taken shelter from the storm and had no intention of doing any damage, but was savagely ordered to shut up. Grasping me tightly by the arm, the first fellow led the way out of the building and down the road to the village. Arrived at a tiny, wooden shanty, the man unlocked the door and crowded us in. They slammed and bolted the door behind us and we heard their footsteps retreating up the walk. As we stood, too bewildered to move, a match flared in the darkness and in a moment the feeble rays of a candle revealed the interior of the lock-up. It consisted of a single room, partially divided by a partition, and containing two bunks. On one of these sprawled a man, while a big negro held aloft the guttering candle end. At sight of a woman the recumbent man sprang to his feet and courteously bade us good evening. Without further ado or questioning, he removed his hat and coat from the bunk where he had been lying and suggested that we make ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit. At once the negro blew out the candle with the remark that we might need it before morning. As we settled ourselves as best we might in the darkness, flashes of lightning revealed the dimensions of the one small, barred window, which furnished all ventilation to the unfortunates within. Furniture, drinking water or conveniences were utterly lacking and my flesh crawled at the thought of the straw-covered bunk on which we must rest in the confined space. Hardly had we lain down, when the door was opened and a fifth person was hustled in. Again the negro lit his candle stub, and we saw that the newcomer was a boy of not more than sixteen years.