"Let go of that chain," said Burney, as he raised a musket to his shoulder. "You can't have that boat, and I want you to get off of this boat at once."
The men drew back, they were desperate looking characters, but they heard the determined tone of Burney's voice and they stepped ashore and made off down the beach. Burney turned to Shawn and said, "Somethin' is wrong; them fellers have done somethin'. What's that?" They could hear the deep baying of a hound. "My God, they's bloodhounds!"
There is something strangely weird in the sound of a bloodhound's voice coming across the night—something that seems to tell of death. The trail was fresh and the dogs were coming under full yelp.
"Put on your shoes and come out front, Shawn," said Burney. Eight or ten men came down through the willows, one man in front and holding the hounds by a leash. Each man was armed with a shotgun. The dogs came to the gang-plank, and stopped at the water, and lapped it with their long, yellow tongues.
"Whose boat is this, and who's here?" asked one of the men. Old John answered in a clear and unshaken voice, "I am John Burney, and this is my boat." One of the men came forward and extending his hand, said, "I know John Burney; there's nothing wrong with him, but Burney, can you throw any light on these tracks leading here?" Burney told them of the two men, of their wanting his boat to cross the river. "They went down the shore," said Burney, "about twenty minutes ago; your dogs oughtn't to have much trouble in locating the track, but tell me what's wrong?" The man holding the dogs answered, "Casper Daniel's country store was robbed and burned just after he had gone to bed, and Daniels was either murdered or lost in the fire."
Shawn shuddered and crept back into the boat. The men put the dogs on the trail. Shawn heard them baying as they went down through the deep cottonwood grove. "No sleep for me to-night," said Burney. The voices of the hounds came in faint baying. Burney restlessly paced the shore until the first streaks of dawn. About five o'clock he heard the men coming back. They came down to the boat. Handcuffed together were the two criminals, their haggard faces bore the look of despair. They were sullen and silent, and as Shawn stood gazing at them, he could not repress a feeling of pity, although their hands were stained with human blood. They were taken up the road to the little town and placed in the jail. Shawn and Burney followed the men. Around the jail was a crowd of excited men and loud voices were heard on every side. Men were coming out of the saloon on the corner just beyond the jail. They stood around in groups and angry mutterings were heard. Suddenly there seemed to be a concerted move in front of the jail. A young lawyer sprang upon a box and pleaded with the crowd to let the law take its course.
"Law!" exclaimed a black-whiskered man, "we've never had any law that money couldn't buy!"
"Hang 'em! Hang 'em!" yelled the crowd. A rush was made for the jail. The jailor was making a feeble pretense of protecting his prisoners. A heavy sledge crashed against the door, the jailor was knocked down and the keys taken from him.
"There they are! Bring 'em out!"
The poor wretches were dragged out, moaning piteously and begging for their lives. Shawn turned away, sick at heart, but something seemed to hold him to the spot.