Jim sent a telegram to Springfield only to learn, as Belle had done, that the Governor had left for Chicago. He sent telegrams to every one who had the power to help. He telegraphed Belle; he rushed to the Sheriff to beg for God's sake but one hour's reprieve. He hurried to the penitentiary to find another telegram from Belle: Pray without ceasing for an hour's delay. We have Squeaks now. But the clock ticked on. He literally ran to Michael's cell; the jailer opened the way. "Michael," he gasped, "we have found Squeaks; we know you are innocent." Michael was the calmest of all. "Whatever is God's will I'll take without a grumble," he said, and sat smoking. At a quarter to twelve the Sheriff appeared. "Why, Sheriff, you are not going to--when you know the reprieve is on the way. You are not going to let a technicality lead you into murder?" "I have no change in my instructions," said the Sheriff, "and no proof that any change is on the way." "Why; this is monstrous," gasped Jim. "An hour's delay is all we ask, so the Governor can be reached." The Sheriff motioned the guard to move on, and Shay walked firmly between the two officers. They came into the prison yard. There assembled were a score of officials and newspaper men. "Have you any final statement to make?" asked the State officials. "Nothing, only that I am innocent and Squeaks is alive at this moment." That was an old story--an old trick to win time. The officers were preparing to act, when Hartigan pale and exultant, swinging the last telegram before the Sheriff, re-read it and for the first time truly got its meaning. He said: "Let us pray."