“No,” said Bridge. “A mob is not open to reason. If they get us I shall hang, unless someone happens to think of the stake.” The boy shuddered. “Will you tell the truth?” asked the man. “I will go with you,” replied the boy, “and take whatever you get.” “Why?” asked Bridge. The youth flushed; but did not reply, for there came from without a sudden augmentation of the murmurings of the mob. Automobile horns screamed out upon the night. The two heard the chugging of motors, the sound of brakes and the greetings of new arrivals. The reinforcements had arrived from Oakdale. A guard came to the grating of the cell door. “The bunch from Oakdale has come,” he said. “If I was you I'd say my prayers. Old man Baggs is dead. No one never had no use for him while he was alive, but the whole county's het up now over his death. They're bound to get you, an' while I didn't count 'em all I seen about a score o' ropes. They mean business.” Bridge turned toward the boy. “Tell the truth,” he said. “Tell this man.” The youth shook his head. “I have killed no one,” said he. “That is the truth. Neither have you; but if they are going to murder you they can murder me too, for you stuck to me when you didn't have to; and I am going to stick to you, and there is some excuse for me because I have a reason--the best reason in the world.” “What is it?” asked Bridge. The Oskaloosa Kid shook his head, and once more he flushed. “Well,” said the guard, with a shrug of his shoulders, “it's up to you guys. If you want to hang, why hang and be damned. We'll do the best we can 'cause it's our duty to protect you; but I guess at that hangin's too good fer you, an' we ain't a-goin' to get shot keepin' you from gettin' it.” “Thanks,” said Bridge. The uproar in front of the jail had risen in volume until it was difficult for those within to make themselves heard without shouting. The Kid sat upon his bench and buried his face in his hands. Bridge rolled another smoke. The sound of a shot came from the front room of the jail, immediately followed by a roar of rage from the mob and a deafening hammering upon the jail door. A moment later this turned to the heavy booming of a battering ram and the splintering of wood. The frail structure quivered beneath the onslaught. The prisoners could hear the voices of the guards and the jailer raised in an attempt to reason with the unreasoning mob, and then came a final crash and the stamping of many feet upon the floor of the outer room. Burton's car drew up before the doorway of the Prim home in Oakdale. The great detective alighted and handed down the missing Abigail. Then he directed that the other prisoners be taken to the county jail.