"Gentlemen," he said, "I have come a long distance to find this man; I am anxious to have his company as far as the San Bernardino prison, where he will find comfortable board provided for him. If you are law-abiding citizens, you will not interfere with the arrest of Daniel Horton on an indictment of murder."
As he finished speaking, the three men entered, and the sheriff laid his hand on Horton's shoulder. Murder is an ugly word, and a silence followed Hal's speech. The crowd instinctively drew back from the man who had been charged with the foul crime; and a silence ensued, which was broken by the sheriff, a high-voiced little man, who said in a loud tone,--
"I arrest you, Dan Horton, for the murder of Ah Lam, committed at Carey's Bridge, on the afternoon of Wednesday last."
A revulsion of feeling was manifest in the faces of the crowd. The horror for a person who has committed the unatonable crime of murder had been felt; but when it transpired that the victim was a Chinaman, the case appeared to be very much altered. The man, quick to see the favorable change in public sentiment, cried,--
"Wall, boys, you see I am 'spected of having done the business for one of these Chinese vermin. What sort of a town 's this as will see a man 'rested for that?"
Daniel Horton's experience of life in the rough mining towns, where the last five years of his life had been spent, gave him the hope that the men in the saloon would help him to escape from arrest. But though sympathy for him was evinced by the group of idlers, there was no attempt at resisting the officers; and the sheriff, assisted by Galbraith and Deering, finally succeeded in placing the hand-cuffs on his wrists. When he saw that there was no help for him, he submitted to be led from the saloon, giving one parting look of scorn at the friends whom he had won by a glass of liquor and lost on the appearance of an officer.
"Of all the derned mean skunks as I ever met, this town numbers the most," he muttered, as the screen door swung to behind him.
The examination of the prisoner was to be held in the court-room of the county prison of San Bernardino. Millicent was summoned to be present. Escorted by Deering and Galbraith, she arrived before the entrance of the gloomy building, one bright October morning. It was a day when life seemed a pleasant thing, if only because there were sunlight and color in the odorous woods and pleasant highways. Just as they reached the doorway, a line of people filed out from the narrow portal. They were the discharged prisoners, some of whom had been in confinement for twenty-four hours only, while others had not breathed the free air for many weary months. A girl not older than Millicent passed them with a slow, inelastic step and downcast eyes. Her slender figure was poorly but decently clad in a gown of rusty black, her hair neatly arranged, her hands and face clean and of a remarkable pallor. She alone among the little group seemed loath to leave the prison, where at least she had been among those who could not look down on her. At the threshold she paused and shuddered, as if the wide street, with its row of young shade-trees and neat sidewalk, were more forbidding than the narrow prison-yard, with its spiked rails and dismal barred windows. Those who were behind became impatient at her delay; and she was pushed not ungently into the street by the man next to her in the sad procession. As she found herself alone outside the dreary stone building, she gave a low groan, clasping her poor thin hands together over her breast. Millicent, moved by the pathetic gesture, spoke to her gently, asking if she could in any way help her; but the girl shook her head as if annoyed by the question, and walked quickly down the street, taking the first turn which led her out of sight of the prison. All those who followed were men, most of whom wore a conscious expression, as if they were more embarrassed at being seen leaving the prison than mortified at having merited the punishment which they had undergone. As the last of the queue filed out, Galbraith entered the doorway, Millicent following him, and Deering bringing up the rear. In the wide stone hall which they entered were groups of men talking together or leaning idly against the rails. A heavy grated door swung open with a rusty, grinding sound, and two men appeared, arm-in-arm. The taller of the two was a handsome young fellow, with blond, curling hair, blue eyes, and fresh rosy cheeks. His expression was almost infantine in its beauty; and this, with his jaunty air, contrasted strangely with his companion's ugly, stooping figure and downcast, shamed face. The latter was a misshapen creature, with a humped back and a large, ugly head furnished with coarse hair and beard. As the grate clanged behind the couple, the handsome young fellow laughed cheerily, stretched his limbs, and drew a long breath of relief.
"Ta-ta, bully, hope I won't see you soon again," he said, nodding impudently to the door-keeper. The smaller man was lame, as well as deformed; and the under-warden, who had joined Galbraith, asked him kindly how his leg was doing.
"Better, sir, thank you," croaked the unfortunate in a harsh voice; "it came hard on me not havin' George here to help me; but it's all right now. Good-morning to you, sir."