wed
by disapproving words.

At the stairhead, beyond the range of a bullet's flight, Peter paused.
Pandemonium reigned below. The roused prisoners shouted rage, alarm, or
joy, and whistled shrilly through their fingers, wild with excitement;
and from the violated cell arose a prodigious crash of thudding fists,
the smashing of a splintered chair, the sickening impact of locked bodies
falling against the stone walls or upon the complaining bunk, accompanied
by verbiage, and also by rattling of iron doors, hoots, cheers and
catcalls from the other cells. Authority made no sign.

Peter crouched in the darkness above, smiling happily. From the duration
of the conflict the combatants seemed to be equally matched. But the roar
of battle grew presently feebler; curiosity stilled the audience, at
least in part; it became evident, by language and the sound of tortured
and whistling breath, that Poole was choking his opponent into submission
and offering profuse apologies for his disturbance of privacy. Mingled
with this explanation were derogatory opinions of some one, delivered
with extraordinary bitterness. From the context it would seem that those
remarks were meant to apply to Peter Johnson. Listening intently, Peter
seemed to hear from the first floor a feeble drumming, as of one beating
the floor with bound feet. Then the tumult broke out afresh.

Peter went back to his cell and lit his lamp. Leaving the door wide open,
he coiled the rope neatly and placed it upon his table, laid the hacksaw
beside it, undressed himself, blew out the light; and so lay down to
pleasant dreams.

CHAPTER XIV

Mr. Johnson was rudely wakened from his slumbers by a violent hand upon
his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he smiled up into the scowling face of
Undersheriff Barton.

"Good-morning, sheriff," he said, and sat up, yawning.

The sun was shining brightly. Mr. Johnson reached for his trousers and
yawned again.

The scandalized sheriff was unable to reply. He had been summoned by
passers-by, who, hearing the turbulent clamor for breakfast made by the
neglected prisoners, had hastened to give the alarm. He had found the
jailer tightly bound, almost choked by his gag, suffering so cruelly from
cramps that he could not get up when released, and barely able to utter
the word "Johnson."

Acting on that hint, Barton had rushed up-stairs, ignoring the shouts of
his mutinous prisoners as he went through the second-floor corridor, to