"Dat's Judson, d' 'porter on d' Jou'nal."
"Who dat udder one wi' a big nose 'n' dark 'plection!"
"Ain' you ebber been 'rested, nigga, 'n' up a-fo' Jedge Ly'l's, 'n' seen 'im a-hangin' 'roun'? Dat's Jempsy, d' putective."
"Lis'n! lis'n! Wha' dat! Dey has captured 'im!" Forthwith, to another point they rushed, through a bunch collected around the barber, who was then telling and retelling "'Ow close ah come t' gittin' 'im."
It was not a report this time, but the ambulance that was taking the wounded teller to his home. The sight of him, with bandaged head as a result of the attempt, served to renew the local race animosity.
"Ah sho 's go'n kill me a whi' man, so 'elp me Jaysus!" muttered a dinge, as the carriage passed him by, while all about dark faces scowled ominously.
Darkness was approaching, when an authentic report came at last, to the ears of the crowd. The would-be robber had really been captured, and it was the papers that gave forth the news.
His name, so he said, was Rhynata, a "vaudevillian," who hailed from Denver. His capture had been thus:
When he had eluded the mob, by holding up the old man for his horse and buggy, he followed that street for only a block, when he turned into another. After the crowd was lost, he left the buggy, and walked hurriedly up the street, turned a corner, and disappeared in the basement of a house.
A plainclothes man, some while later, happened to pass that way in trying to locate him, and followed him therein. When he got to the second story, he came into a room where a woman was bathing, with a damp towel, the head of a man in bed. He backed up, begging pardon, and turned to leave. As he was passing a dresser, in a half open drawer, his eye espied a revolver which his hand forthwith touched. The barrel was warm, which told the rest of the story.