“Heard, heard what, man? not Dorothy? You can’t mean that it was Dorothy Carr—what—what—”
He stopped, a thrill of terror froze his blood.
“It’s true—too true! Mr. Harding, she is dead!”
“You lie! You lie!” Elliott shrieked.
Then in a different tone, he huskily whispered:
“Give me the keys, man, give me the keys! Quick! Quick!”
It was all that the sheriff could do to make him understand that the jailer had the keys. A whirlwind of ungovernable fury swept over him.
“Good God!” he panted, “The driver said the mob was for the moonshiner!” His senses reeled; staggering, he leaned against a wall near by.
“What shall I do, my God! What shall I do!”
“I advise you to go first to her poor old father. They say the shock has pretty near killed him,” said the sheriff.