CHAPTER VIII.
THE ARREST.
Carlos drove into Dalton terribly depressed and apprehensive. In the rain-storm he had turned up the collar of his coat and buttoned it tightly, thus shielding from the rain a portion of the blood stains. He saw that these were not entirely washed off. The words of the murderer in regard to fastening the crime on him still rang in his ears.
“If I could have returned immediately,” he thought, “instead of waiting until morning, it would have been better. What will people say? They are talking about it now.”
In a misery of doubt and despondency he drove up the street.
Some one caught sight of him, and uttering an exclamation to a little knot or men, pointed at him.
Still Carlos drove on, determined to encounter whatever might come.
Five or six men rushed to the carriage, and one, seizing the horse’s head, stopped him.
“That’s the man!” exclaimed one.
“Yes, that’s one of the nephews,” said another.