"Let go that knife," thundered the sheriff. "Let it a-loose, I tell you, or I'll mash your skull!"
"Not while I hold 'im, Bale," said the bar-keeper, sullenly. "Law or no law, I won't he'p beat no man 'at's down!"
"Let go that knife!" The sheriff spoke the last word almost in a scream, and he beat Wambush's knuckles so furiously that the knife fell to the ground.
He then pinned Toot's legs to the earth with his knees, and held the knife up to a man in the crowd.
"Keep it jest like it is fur evidence," he panted. "Don't shet it up or tetch the blade."
Disarmed, Wambush seemed suddenly overcome with fear. He allowed the sheriff to jerk him to his feet, and walked passively between the three men across the street to the stone jail.
Westerfelt stood alone on the sidewalk. Everybody went to see Wambush locked up except Harriet and her mother. They instantly came out to Westerfelt. Harriet picked up a folded piece of letter paper.
"Did you drop this?" she asked.
He did not reply, but took the paper absently and thrust it into his coat pocket. It had fallen from Wambush's pocket. He was very white and leaned heavily against a sycamore-tree.
"Oh, he's cut your coat; look!" Harriet cried.