"Well, he got him!" said one citizen to another. "Quick work for the sher'ff, wasn't it? A little more and that fellow would 'a' got off on that train, like enough. That's what he was down here for. I seen him lookin' for the train." "Yes, and that young fellow had a dangerous look on him, too," said another. "He's _bad_, that's what he is! Look how he showed it yesterday--right after court, too." Each had this or that comment to make, but all followed on now toward the scenes where the further action in the drama of the day must now ensue. Cowles pulled up on the side of the square on which Judge Henderson had his office. "You may get out here, Miss," said he. "I think you'll find the Judge in right now." "But why--what's the reason----" she began, much perturbed, and looking at Don. "What's wrong, Don? Aren't you coming?" "Yes, Mr. Sheriff," said Don, "let me go up with her. I'll be right on over." The big man looked at the two, a sort of pity in his face. "I'm sorry," said he, "but you'll have to come with me right away. Tell me, are you Miss Oglesby, his kin from over Columbus way?" "Yes, yes," said she. "I've been here before. But tell me, what does this mean--this murder? It's an awful thing, isn't it? It seems to me I remember the marshal's name--maybe I've seen him. Who did it--whom do they suspect?" "That's what we don't know for sure," said the sheriff, "and it's what we've got to find out." "Why, who would ever have thought it of this little town!" "Things happen in this little town, I reckon, about the same as they do anywhere," said the sheriff. "Don----" She turned to him once more as she stood on the pavement, he still remaining on the front seat of the car where the sheriff's hand restrained him. "Why, Don----" But the sheriff's solemn face was turned towards her. He shook his head. An instant and the car had whirled away from the curb. They had parted, almost before they had met! To Dieudonne Lane, ignorant as he was of the cause of all this, it seemed that the final parting of all had come, and, bitterly he reflected, they had had no chance--no chance whatever--for what was due them from their love, their life itself. Anne Oglesby, the kiss of her lover's lips still sweet and trembling upon her mouth, her own mind confused, her own heart disturbed, turned towards the dusty stair, all her senses in a whirl. And within five minutes Don Lane, very pale and much distressed, was in the front part of the little home of Joel Tarbush. The officer had brought him before Justice Blackman, the coroner, and the coroner's jury, six solemn-faced men who sat now in the front parlor which had no other occupants save the red-eyed daughter of the dead man, and save the long and shrouded figure which lay upon the couch near by. Don Lane could not misread the hostility of the gaze turned upon him by most of these whom now he saw.