"It must be about the Tarbush matter," said Dewdonny Lane. "I'll testify, but I know nothing of that. I'll come on over directly. This young lady is going to Judge Henderson's."

The sheriff looked at the young girl curiously. The crowd now had surged about them. Like so many cattle at the smell of blood, a strange low sound, animal-like, a sort of moan of curiosity, seemed to rise.

Wide-eyed, the girl turned.

"What is it, Don?" she exclaimed. "What has happened? The Tarbush case--what do you mean?"

"I'm going to take him to the coroner's hearing, miss," said the sheriff in a low tone of voice.

"Why, you see, Anne," began Don, "the city marshal of this town was killed last night. I suppose the coroner is looking into it. It's a terrible thing--the town's all upset--haven't you heard anything of it?"

"Why, no. I left home before any of our papers came out. How did it happen?"

Don felt the sheriff again touch his arm. "Step into my car," said he, "both of you--you get on the front seat with me."

A moment later they were whirling off up the dusty street toward the central part of the town. The crowd, breaking into little groups, came hurrying on along the sidewalks, some even falling into a run in the middle of the street.

"Well, he got him!" said one citizen to another. "Quick work for the sher'ff, wasn't it? A little more and that fellow would 'a' got off on that train, like enough. That's what he was down here for. I seen him lookin' for the train."

"Yes, and that young fellow had a dangerous look on him, too," said another. "He's _bad_, that's what he is! Look how he showed it yesterday--right after court, too."

Each had this or that comment to make, but all followed on now toward the scenes where the further action in the drama of the day must now ensue.

Cowles pulled up on the side of the square on which Judge Henderson had his office. "You may get out here, Miss," said he. "I think you'll find the Judge in right now."

"But why--what's the reason----" she began, much perturbed, and looking at Don. "What's wrong, Don? Aren't you coming?"

"Yes, Mr. Sheriff," said Don, "let me go up with her. I'll be right on over."

The big man looked at the two, a sort of pity in his face. "I'm sorry,"

said he, "but you'll have to come with me right away. Tell me, are you Miss Oglesby, his kin from over Columbus way?"

"Yes, yes," said she. "I've been here before. But tell me, what does this mean--this murder? It's an awful thing, isn't it? It seems to me I remember the marshal's name--maybe I've seen him. Who did it--whom do they suspect?"

"That's what we don't know for sure," said the sheriff, "and it's what we've got to find out."

"Why, who would ever have thought it of this little town!"

"Things happen in this little town, I reckon, about the same as they do anywhere," said the sheriff.

"Don----" She turned to him once more as she stood on the pavement, he still remaining on the front seat of the car where the sheriff's hand restrained him. "Why, Don----"

But the sheriff's solemn face was turned towards her. He shook his head.

An instant and the car had whirled away from the curb.

They had parted, almost before they had met!

To Dieudonne Lane, ignorant as he was of the cause of all this, it seemed that the final parting of all had come, and, bitterly he reflected, they had had no chance--no chance whatever--for what was due them from their love, their life itself.

Anne Oglesby, the kiss of her lover's lips still sweet and trembling upon her mouth, her own mind confused, her own heart disturbed, turned towards the dusty stair, all her senses in a whirl. And within five minutes Don Lane, very pale and much distressed, was in the front part of the little home of Joel Tarbush. The officer had brought him before Justice Blackman, the coroner, and the coroner's jury, six solemn-faced men who sat now in the front parlor which had no other occupants save the red-eyed daughter of the dead man, and save the long and shrouded figure which lay upon the couch near by.

Don Lane could not misread the hostility of the gaze turned upon him by most of these whom now he saw.

Something suddenly caught at his heart--his first feeling of fear, of uncertainty; but even this was mingled with a rage at fate, which could be so cruelly unjust to him. And always, in spite of himself, he felt his eyes turning to look, awed, terrified, upon the long thing which lay upon the couch. And always the eyes of these six men saw what he did, saw what he saw.

"This is Dewdonny Lane," said the Sheriff briefly, and himself sat down to await the progress of events.

The formalities were few. "You may be sworn," said the coroner to him--"it's just as well." Then the oath administered, Blackman began the regular questions, and Don answered steadily.

"My name is Dieudonne Lane. I am twenty-two years of age. I have no residence as yet. I am a graduate in engineering. I'm going to Wyoming some time this month to take up my work there."

There was a little silence in the room, and then the coroner began again:

"Where were you just now?" he asked. "We sent for you at your home."

"I was at the station--I went to meet a friend."

"What friend was it?"

Don Lane flushed red. "What difference is it? Oh, if I must answer, it was Miss Anne Oglesby, of Columbus. I went down to the train to meet her."

Sheriff Cowles nodded. "That's true," said he. "I took her up to Judge Henderson's office myself."

"What relations have you with this young lady?" asked Blackman.

"That's not the business of anyone," said Don Lane hotly.

"Do you want counsel to protect you now?"

"No, why should I? I am perfectly willing to tell all I know about the case, and that's all I can do. There's no lawyer I'd send for anyhow."

"Where were you last night at about midnight?"

"I was at the library meeting with my mother."

"When did you leave there?"

"It must have been midnight or later--oh, yes, I remember seeing the town clock as we pa.s.sed through the square. That was just before one o'clock--perhaps ten or fifteen minutes. We were out late--every one was."

"Who was with you when you were going home?"

"My mother, and for a time Mr. Rawlins here--one of you gentlemen of the jury. He will know. Just as we left the library we were joined by Mr.

Horace Brooks."

"Where did you go?"

"We three walked on together. It was at the second corner of the square, where Mulberry Street turns off, that Mr. Brooks left me."

Nels Jorgens, one of the jury, now spoke up. "That's true," said he. "I saw the three of them walking along the front of the square, and saw them turn in at Mulberry Street. Across from where I live I saw two people at the gate. It was a man--a tall man--and her--Aurora Lane."