"'Who's there?' asked father.
"'Me, Constable ——, where's Joe? I want him.'
"'Joe's out, Constable. What do you want him for?' asked father.
"'No, I'm not out, Father. Here I am,' I said, at the same time jumping out of bed. 'What's up?'
"'Joe, my boy, I'm sorry for you, but you're my prisoner. Dress as quick as you can and come with me. Mr. L—— was murdered tonight. He isn't dead yet, but he's dying. You were in his saloon a while ago, drinking and playing cards, and you are one of the three accused of the crime of murdering him for the sake of robbing him.'
"The shock was so awful that I couldn't speak, and oh! poor old father!
He shook me, saying, 'Speak, Joe. Tell the constable it's not so.'
"Constable, my boy doesn't drink anything to speak of, and I don't suppose he knows one card from another; do you, Joe?'
"Nobody answered this, and pretty soon we were in the presence of the dying man. Oh! Mother Roberts, it was like a horrible nightmare. I was dazed with the shock and the fright of it all. I could hardly get my voice when some one asked me where I had spent the evening, and at what time I had left that saloon. He must have been murdered right after I left. They tried to rouse him to see if he'd recognize me. He claimed to, but I'm sure he didn't; for he couldn't see and didn't know what he was talking about."
"What of your two companions, Joe?" I asked.
"One of them was there, in charge of the sheriff; I don't know where the other one was. From that night up to this we have been here in prison, though we haven't met. He's in a cell on another floor. He's sentenced to San Quentin for life.