Great excitement came to them when the figure of a man was seen to drop to the walk near the front gate. At first it was feared that one of the bandits, injured by pursuers, had fallen to die, but the mournful calls for help that soon came from the sidewalk were more or less reassuring. The prostrate figure had a queer habit from time to time of raising itself high enough to peer between the pickets of the fence, and each succeeding shout seemed more vigorous than the others. Finally they became impatient, and then full of wrath. It was evident that the stranger resented the inhospitality of the house. "Who are you?" called Edna, opening the window ever so slightly. Whereupon the man at the gate sank to the ground and groaned with splendid misery. "It's me," he replied. "Who's me?" "'Rast--'Rast Little. I think I'm dyin'." There was a hurried consultation indoors, and then Roscoe bravely ventured out to the sidewalk. "Are you shot, 'Rast?" he asked in trembling tones. "No; I'm just wounded. Is Rosalie in there?" "Yep. She's--" "I guess I'll go in, then. Dern it! It's a long walk from our house over here. I guess I'll stay all night. If I don't get better to-morrow I'll have to stay longer. I ought to be nursed, too." "Rosalie's playin' nurse fer Mr. Bonner," volunteered Roscoe, still blocking the gate through which 'Rast was trying to wedge himself. "Mr. who?" "Bonner." "Well," said 'Rast after a moment's consideration, "he ought to be moved to a hospital. Lemme lean on you, Roscoe. I can't hardly walk, my arm hurts so." Mr. Little, with his bandages and his hobble, had joined in the expedition, and was not to be deterred until faintness overcame him and he dropped by the wayside. He was taken in and given a warm chair before the fire. One long look at Bonner and the newcomer lapsed into a stubborn pout. He groaned occasionally and made much ado over his condition, but sourly resented any approach at sympathy. Finally he fell asleep in the chair, his last speech being to the effect that he was going home early in the morning if he had to drag himself every foot of the way. Plainly, 'Rast had forgotten Miss Banks in the sudden revival of affection for Rosalie Gray. The course of true love did not run smoothly in Tinkletown. The searchers straggled in empty handed. Early morning found most of them asleep at their homes, tucked away by thankful wives, and with the promises of late breakfasts. The next day business was slow in asserting its claim upon public attention. Masculine Tinkletown dozed while femininity chattered to its heart's content. There was much to talk about and more to anticipate. The officials in all counties contiguous had out their dragnets, and word was expected at any time that the fugitives had fallen into their hands.