"Yes!" said the parson eagerly.
"It's this. Whitewash Bill has worked his way to very near the boundary. Three days ago we thought we had him cornered. He slipped away during the night—the party on the spot was too small to hem him in. Since then we've completely lost him. I'm afraid, if we don't pick him up again in a very short time, it will mean—"
"Don't say—"
"—That he's slipped into the States. And that means the end—and my resignation."
"Oh, that's impossible."
"It isn't. The uproar is so great that the man who fails will have to suffer. We're at the climax now. It will all be over in two or three days."
"But the people won't stand for it, Major. They know you've done your best. They trust you."
"Do they? We'll see. Of course, there's hope yet. The men are at boiling point. If they sight Whitewash Bill again, he'll never get away. I've ordered him taken alive, though, which makes it rather more difficult."
"You've every honest man behind you, Major."
"Pleased to hear it. Well, there's the situation."