It was after eight o'clock when the wagon and its escort entered the outskirts of the town. Grim, imperturbable old dames sitting on their porches smoking their clay or corncob pipes regarded the strange procession with mild curiosity; toilers in gardens and barnyards merely remarked to themselves that "some'pin must'a happened some'eres" and called out to housewife or offspring not to let them forget to "mosey up to the square" later in the day for particulars, if any. The presence of the sheriff was more or less informing; it was obvious even to the least sprightly intelligence that somebody had been arrested. But the appearance of Mrs. Gwyn on horseback, riding slowly beside the wagon, was not so easily accounted for. That circumstance alone made it absolutely worth while to "mosey up to the square" a little later on. Martin Hawk was lodged in the recently completed brick jail adjoining the courthouse. He complained bitterly of the injustice that permitted his daughter, a confessed murderess, to enjoy the hospitality of the sheriff's home whilst he, accused of nothing more heinous than sheep-stealing, was flung into jail and subjected to the further indignity of being audibly described as a fit subject for the whipping post, an institution that still prevailed despite a general movement to abolish it throughout the state. It galled him to hear the fuss that was being made over Moll. Everybody seemed to be taking her part. Why, that Gwyn woman not only went so far as to say she would be responsible for Moll's appearance in court, but actually arranged to buy her a lot of new clothes. And the sheriff patted her on the shoulder and loudly declared that the only thing any judge or jury could possibly find her guilty of was criminal negligence in only half-doing the job. This was supplemented by a look that left no doubt in Martin's mind as to just what he considered to be the neglected part of the job. He bethought himself of the one powerful friend he had in town,--Barry Lapelle. So he sent this message by word of mouth to the suspected dandy: "I'm in jail. I want you to come and see me right off. I mean business." Needless to say, this message,--conveying a far from subtle threat,--was a long time in reaching Mr. Lapelle, who had gone into temporary retirement at Jack Trentman's shanty, having arrived at that unsavoury retreat by a roundabout, circuitous route which allowed him to spend some time on the bank of a sequestered brook. Meanwhile Rachel Carter approached her own home, afoot and weary. As she turned the bend she was surprised and not a little disturbed by the sight of Kenneth Gwynne standing at her front gate. He hurried up the road to meet her. "The worst has come to pass," he announced, stopping in front of her. "Before you go in I must tell you just what happened here this morning. Come in here among the trees where we can't be seen from the house."