"Wal, ef you wish it; thar's nobody thar." Then, as he drew nearer to Poynter, he added in a kind tone: "Lord love you, squar', I'm sorry—dog-goned sorry to see you hyar. It's rough lines fer a fine young feller like you to be 'rested on sech a charge!"
"Thank you, Henderson," cordially replied Poynter, as he clasped the little man's hand warmly. "It is rough, especially when you are innocent."
"Be—now don't git mad, Mr. Poynter, 'cause I mean well—be you innercent?" anxiously asked Henderson.
"Of any thing unlawful or mean, I am. But as I don't know what charges are laid against me, I can say no more."
"They say you be one of these horse-thieves an' counterfeiters!" whispered the landlord.
"Then they lie!" angrily replied Poynter.
"An' wuss, a heap wusser'n that. They say you murdered—"
"No conversing with the prisoner there, Jim Henderson," interrupted the leader, as he emerged from the house.
"I was jest a—"
"No matter. Come. The long-room is ready, and to spare time we will try the prisoner at once," added McGuire, as he motioned his men to enter.