“He’s your pris’ner.”

“Then suppose I let him go, on his promise to stick to his father for the rest of his life!”

“He’s your pris’ner,” repeated the sheriff.

“Suppose, then, I were to insist upon your taking him into custody.”

“Why, then,” said the sheriff, speaking like a man in the depths of meditation, “I would let him go myself, and—and I’d have to shoot you to save my reputation as a faithful officer.”

The preacher made a peculiar face. The prisoner exclaimed:

“Hurry, you brutes!”

The preacher said, at last:

“Let him loose.”

The sheriff removed the handcuffs, dived into his own pocket, brought out a pocket-comb and glass, and handed them to the thief; then he placed the lantern in front of him, and said: