melancholy spicery of dead leaves. There was, moreover, that sense of novelty which Nature always brings with the dawn in deep forests; a fancy that during the night the earth had been created anew, and was fresh from the Maker's hand, as yet untried by burden or tribulation, and guiltless of a Past. And so it seemed to the little caravan, albeit fleeing from danger and death, that yesterday and its fears were far away, or had, in some unaccountable manner, shrunk behind them in the west with the swiftly dwindling night. Olly once or twice strayed from the trail to pick an opening flower or lingering berry; Pete hummed to himself the fragment of an old camp-meeting song.
And so they walked on, keeping the rosy dawn and its promise before them. From time to time the sound of far-off voices came to them faintly. Slowly the light quickened; morning stole down the hills upon them stealthily, and at last the entrance of the canon became dimly outlined. Olly uttered a shout and pointed to a black object moving backward and forward before the opening. It was the wagon and team awaiting them. Olly's shout was answered by a whistle from the driver, and they quickened their pace joyfully; in another moment they would be beyond the reach of danger.
Suddenly a voice that seemed to start from the ground before them called on Gabriel to stop! He did so unconsciously, drawing Hamlin closer to him with one hand, and with the other making a broad, protecting sweep toward Olly. And then a figure rose slowly from the ditch at the roadside and barred their passage.
It was only a single man! A small man bespattered with the slime of the ditch and torn with brambles; a man exhausted with fatigue and tremulous with nervous excitement, but still erect and threatening. A man whom Gabriel and Hamlin instantly recognized even through his rags and exhaustion! It was Joe Hall, the sheriff of Calaveras! He held a pistol in his right hand even while his left exhaustedly sought the support of a tree! By a common instinct both men saw that while the hand was feeble the muzzle of the weapon covered them.
"Gabriel Conroy, I want you," said the apparition.
"He's got us lined! Drop me," whispered Hamlin hastily, "drop me! It'll spoil his aim."
But Gabriel, by a swift, dexterous movement that seemed incompatible with his usual deliberation, instantly transferred Hamlin to his other arm, and with his burden completely shielded, presented his own right shoulder squarely to the muzzle of Hall's revolver.
"Gabriel Conroy, you are my prisoner," repeated the voice.
Gabriel did not move. But over his shoulder as a rest, dropped the long shining barrel of Jack's own favorite dueling pistol, and over it glanced the bright eye of its crippled owner. The issue was joined!
There was a deathlike silence. "Go on!" said Jack quietly. "Keep cool, Joe. For if you miss him, you're gone in; and hit or miss I've got you sure!"
The barrel of Hall's pistol wavered a moment, from physical weakness but not from fear. The great heart behind it, though broken, was still undaunted. "It's all right," said the voice fatefully. "It's all right, Jack! Ye'll kill me, I know! But ye can't help sayin' arter all that I did my duty to Calaveras as the sheriff, and 'specially to them fifty men ez elected me over Boggs! I ain't goin' to let ye pass. I've been on this yer hunt, up and down this canon all night. Hevin' no possy I reckon I've got to die yer in my tracks. All right! But ye'll git into thet wagon over my dead body, Jack; over my dead body, sure."
Even as he spoke these words he straightened himself to his full height—which was not much, I fear—and steadied himself by the tree, his weapon still advanced and pointing at Gabriel, but with such a palpable and hopeless contrast between his determination and his evident inability to execute it, that his attitude impressed his audience less with its heroism than its half-pathetic absurdity. Mr. Hamlin laughed. But even then he suddenly felt the grasp of Gabriel relax, found himself slipping to his companion's feet, and the next moment was deposited carefully but ignominiously on the ground by Gabriel, who strode quietly and composedly up to the muzzle of the sheriff's pistol.
"I'm ready to go with ye, Mr. Hall," he said, gently, putting the pistol aside with a certain large indifferent wave of the hand—"ready to go with ye—now—at onct! But I've one little favor to ax ye. This yer pore young man, ez yur wounded, unbeknownst," he said, pointing to Hamlin, who was writhing and gritting his teeth in helpless rage and fury, "ez not to be tuk with me, nor for me! Thar ain't nothin' to be done to him. He hez been dragged inter this fight. But
