for himself, and ushered into a quiet and pleasant
corner cell, whence he might solace himself by a view of the street and
the courthouse park. Further, the deputy ministered to Mr. Johnson's
hurts with water and court-plaster, and a beefsteak applied to a bruised
and swollen eye. He volunteered his good offices as a witness in the moot
matter of intoxication and in all ways gave him treatment befitting an
honored guest.

"Now, what else?" he said. "You can't get a hearing until to-morrow; the
justice of the peace is out of town. Do you know anybody here? Can you
give bail?"

"Ya-as, I reckon so. But I won't worry about that till to-morrow. Night
in jail don't hurt any one."

"If I can do anything for you, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you kindly, I'll take you up on that. Just let me think up a
little."

The upshot of his considerations was that the jailer carried to a
tailor's shop Johnson's coat and vest, sadly mishandled during the brief
affray on the bridge; the deputy dispatched a messenger to the Selden
Farm with a note for Miss Mary Selden, and also made diligent inquiry as
to Mr. Oscar Mitchell, reporting that Mr. Mitchell had taken the
westbound flyer at four o'clock, together with Mr. Pelman, his clerk;
both taking tickets to El Paso.

Later, a complaisant jailer brought to Pete a goodly supper from the
Algonquin, clean bedding, cigars, magazines, and a lamp--the last item
contrary to rule. He chatted with his prisoner during supper, cleared
away the dishes, locked the cell door, with a cheerful wish for good
night, and left Pete with his reflections.

Pete had hardly got to sleep when he was wakened by a queer, clinking
noise. He sat up in the bed and listened.

The sound continued. It seemed to come from the window, from which the
sash had been removed because of July heat. Pete went to investigate. He
found, black and startling against the starlight beyond, a small rubber
balloon, such as children love, bobbing up and down across the window;
tied to it was a delicate silk fishline, which furnished the motive
power. As this was pulled in or paid out the balloon scraped by the
window, and a pocket-size cigar clipper, tied beneath at the end of a
six-inch string, tinkled and scratched on the iron bars. Pete lit his
lamp; the little balloon at once became stationary.

"This," said Pete, grinning hugely, "is the doings of that Selden kid.
She is certainly one fine small person!"

Pete turned the