chain as the wolf dog moved restlessly as smoke kept her instinctive fear of fire aroused.
She was up before dawn, finishing breakfast as light and wind grew stronger—
John Taylor sprang from sound sleep in his cell. The sheriff was unbolting the door to bring in a plate of food.
"When are you fellows going to give me a chance to pay a fine and get out of here?" John asked.
"In a rush?" The sheriff tried to be jocose.
"I'm about as crazy to get out as Jim Harris is to keep me in!" the other burst out. "If I'm not loose today there'll be something bitter for a crowd of you to swallow!"
The genuineness of his anger shocked the officer.
"You'll be took care of," he said. "The judge'll get around about nine, I expect."
The men were going on patrol. Black Joe, glass in hand, descended from Watch Pine, shaking his head. It was no use; he could not see forty rods through the smoke.
Pauguk stiffened, ears cocked and then a car came through the murk and stopped before the door of the big house and Philip Rowe got out to confront Helen. He removed his hat and bowed stiffly; his bruised lips and swollen eye made him grotesque and the smile he forced made him hideous.
"Miss Foraker, Mr. Luke Taylor is here."
She looked at the old man, getting to the ground. He leaned heavily on his stick today; he was stooped and his clothing hung loosely about his withered frame. His thin lips were parted and he breathed rapidly, as though this were great effort.
