The silence was terrible, and the feelings of all present were greatly relieved when Bill Bowney--placed on the horse, and seeing the rope hauled taught and fastened to a bough by a man in the tree--broke into a frenzy of cursing, and displayed the defiant courage peculiar to an animal at bay.

"Has the prisoner anything to say?" asked the major, as Bowney stopped for breath.

"Better own up, and save yourself and reform, and help rid the world of those other scoundrels," pleaded the New Englander.

"Don't yer do it, Bill--don't yer do it!" cried Caney, of Texas. "Stick to yer friends, an' die like a man!"

"That's me!" said the prisoner, directing a special volley of curses at the New Englander. "It's ben said here that I wuz sneakin' an' cowardly; ther's _one_ way of givin' that feller the lie--hurry up an' do it!"

"When I raise my hand," said the major, "lead the horse away; and may the Lord have mercy on your soul, Bowney!"

"Amen!" fervently exclaimed the New Englander.

Again there was a moment of terrible silence, and when a gentle wind swept over the wild oats and through the tree, there seemed to sound on the air a sigh and a shudder.

Suddenly all the horses started and pricked up their ears.

"Somebody's comin'!" whispered one of the party. "Sheriff's got wind of the arrangements, maybe!"

"Comes from the wrong direction," cried Caney, of Texas, quickly. "It's somebody on foot--an' tired--an' light-footed--ther's two or three--dunno what kind o' bein's they _ken_ be. Thunder an' lightnin'!"

Caney's concluding remark was inspired by the sudden appearance of a woman, who rushed into the shadow of the tree, stopped, looked wildly about for a moment, and then threw herself against the prisoner's feet, and uttered a low, pitiful cry.

There was a low murmur from the crowd, and the major cried:

"Take him down; give him fifteen minutes with his wife, and see she doesn't untie him."

[Illustration: "TAKE HIM DOWN; GIVE HIM FIFTEEN MINUTES WITH HIS WIFE."]

The man in the tree loosened the rope, Bowney was lifted off and placed on the ground again, and the woman threw herself on the ground beside him, caressed his ugly face, and wailed pitifully. The judge and jury fidgeted about restlessly. Still the horses stood on the alert, and soon three came through the oats--three children, all crying.

As they saw the men they became dumb, and stood mute and frightened, staring at their parents.

They were not pretty--they were not even interesting. Mother and children were alike--unwashed, uncombed, shoeless, and clothed in dirty, faded calico. The children were all girls--the oldest not more than ten years old, and the youngest scarce five. None of them pleaded for the prisoner, but still the woman wailed and moaned, and the children stood staring in dumb piteousness.

The major stood quietly gazing at the face of his watch. There was not in Southern California a more honest man than Major Burkess; yet the minute-hand of his watch had not indicated more than one-half of fifteen minutes, when he exclaimed:

"Time's up!"

The men approached the prisoner--the woman threw her arms around him, and cried:

"My husband! Oh, God!"

"Madam," said the major, "your husband's life is in his own hands. He can save himself by giving the names of his confederates and leaving the State."

"I'll tell you who they are?" cried the woman.

"God curse yer if yer do!" hissed Bowney from between his teeth.

"Better let him be, madam," argued Caney, of Texas. He'd better die like a man than go back on his friends. Might tell us which of 'em was man enough to fetch you and the young uns here? We'll try to be easy on him when we ketch him."

"None of 'em," sobbed the woman. "We walked, an' I took turns totin' the young uns. My husband! Oh, God! my husband!"

"Beg yer pardon, ma'am," said Bowney's captor, "but nobody can't b'leeve that; it's nigh onto twenty mile."

"I'd ha' done it ef it had been fifty," cried the woman, angrily, "when _he_ wuz in trouble. Oh, God! Oh, God! Don't yer b'leeve it? Then look here!" She picked up the smallest child as she spoke, and in the dim light the men saw that its little feet were torn and bleeding. "'Twas their blood or his'n," cried the woman, rapidly, "an' I didn't know how to choose between 'em. God hev mercy on me! I'm nigh crazy!"

Caney, of Texas, took the child from its mother and carried it to where the moonlight was unobstructed. He looked carefully at its feet, and then shouted:

"Bring the prisoner out here."

Two men carried Bowney to where Caney was standing, and the whole party, with the woman and remaining children, followed.

"Bill," said Caney, "_I_ ain't a askin' yer to go back on yer friends, but _them_ is--look at 'em."

And Caney held the child's feet before the father's eyes, while the woman threw her arms around his neck, and the two older children crept up to the prisoner, and laid their faces against his legs.

"They're a-talkin' to yer, Bill," resumed Caney, of Texas, "an' they're the convincenist talkers _I_ ever seed."

The desperado turned his eyes away; but Caney moved the child so its bleeding feet were still before its father's eyes.

The remaining men all retired beneath the shadow of the tree, for the tender little feet were talking to them, too, and they were ashamed of the results.

Suddenly Bowney uttered a deep groan.

"'Tain't no use a-tryin'," said he, in a resigned tone. "Everybody'll be down on me, an' after all I've done, too! But yer ken hev their names, curse yer!"

The woman went into hysterics; the children cried; Caney, of Texas, ejaculated, "Bully!" and then kissed the poor little bruised feet.

The New Englander fervently exclaimed, "Thank God!"

"I'll answer fur him till we get 'em," said Caney, after the major had written down the names Bowney gave him; "an'," continued Caney, "somebody git the rest of these young uns an' ther mother to my cabin powerful quick. Good Lord, don't I jist wish they wuz boys! I'd adopt the hull family."

The court informally adjourned _sine die_, but had so many meetings afterward at the same place to dispose of Bowney's accomplices, that his freedom was considered fairly purchased, and he and his family were located a good way from the scenes of his most noted exploits.

[Illustration]

MR. PUTCHETT'S LOVE.

Just after two o'clock, on a July afternoon, Mr. Putchett mounted several steps of the Sub-Treasury in Wall Street, and gazed inquiringly up and down the street.

To the sentimental observer Mr. Putchett's action, in taking the position we have indicated, may have seemed to signify that Mr. Putchett was of an aspiring disposition, and that in ascending the steps he exemplified his desire to get above the curbstone whose name was used as a qualifying adjective whenever Mr. Putchett was mentioned as a broker.

Those persons, however, who enjoyed the honor of Mr. Putchett's acquaintance immediately understood that the operator in question was in funds that day, and that he had taken the position from which he could most easily announce his moneyed condition to all who might desire assistance from him.

It was rather late in the day for business, and certain persons who had until that hour been unsuccessful in obtaining the accommodations desired were not at all particular whether their demands were satisfied in a handsome office, or under the only roof that can be enjoyed free of rent.