'Sir, I regulate this sale. If you are not satisfied with its conditions, you are not obliged to bid.'
Dawsey made a passionate reply. In the midst of it, Joe sprang upon the stand, and, in a clear, determined voice, called out:
'Mr. Sheriff, do your duty.'
A large, powerful man, in blue coat and brass buttons, stepped to the side of the carriage, and coolly opening the door, said:
'Catharine Dawsey, you are charged with aiding and abetting in the murder of Phyllis Preston. I arrest you. Please come with me.'
'By ——, sir!' cried Dawsey; 'this lady is my wife!'
'It makes no difference whose wife she is, sir. She is my prisoner.'
'She must not be touched by you, or any other man!' yelled Dawsey, drawing his pistol. Before he could fire, he rolled on the ground, insensible. The sheriff had struck him a quick blow on the head with a heavy cane.
As her husband fell, Mrs. Dawsey sprang upon the driver's seat, and, seizing the reins from the astonished negro, applied the lash to the horses. They reared and started. The panic-stricken crowd parted, like waves in a storm, and the spirited animals bounded swiftly down the avenue. They had nearly reached the cluster of liveoaks which borders the small lake, when a man sprang at their heads. He missed them, fell, and the carriage passed over him; but the horses shied from the road into the trees, and in an instant the splendid vehicle was a mass of fragments, and Mrs. Dawsey and the negro were sprawling on the ground.
The lady was taken up senseless, and badly hurt, but breathing. The driver was dead!