him up. Tell him
this wants an answer. Give him a blank, and when he has filled it up,
bring it to me; give the message to no one else, mind."

The boy said "Yes, sir," and departed into the night. He returned so
quickly that Bowen knew without asking that he had found the sleepless
sheriff at the gaol. The message to the governor, written in a
trembling hand by the sheriff, was: "I understand that the execution is
to take place. If you should change your mind, for God's sake telegraph
as soon as possible. I shall delay execution until last moment allowed
by law."

Bowen did not send that message, but another. He laughed--and then
checked himself in alarm, for his laugh sounded strange. "I wonder if I
am quite sane," he said to himself. "I doubt it."

The night wore slowly on. A man representing a Press association came
in after twelve and sent a long dispatch. Bowen telegraphed it, taking
the chances that the receiver would not communicate with the sender of
the reprieve at the capital. He knew how mechanically news of the
greatest importance was taken off the wire by men who have
automatically been doing that for years. Anyhow all the copper and zinc
in the world could not get a message into Brentingville, except through
him, until the day operator came on, and then it would be too late.

The newspaper man, lingering, asked if there would be only one
telegrapher on hand after the execution.

"I shall have a lot of stuff to send over and I want it rushed. Some of
the papers may get out specials. I would have brought an operator with
me but we thought there was going to be a reprieve--although the
sheriff didn't seem to think so," he added.

"The day operator will be here at six, I will return as soon as I have
had a cup of coffee, and we'll handle all you can write," answered
Bowen, without looking up from his instrument.

"Thanks. Grim business, isn't it?"

"It is."

"I thought the governor would cave; didn't you?"

"I didn't know."

"He's a shrewd old villain. He'd have lost next election if he'd
reprieved this man. People don't want to see lynching introduced, and a
weak-kneed governor is Judge Lynch's friend. Well, good-night, see you
in the morning."

"Good-night," said Bowen.

Daylight gradually dimmed the lamps in the telegraph room, and Bowen
started and caught his breath as the church bell began to toll.

It was ten minutes after six when Bowen's partner, the day man, came
in.

"Well, the