the man that any
mistake had been made, and so, after the first effort, ceased to waste
his time in the vain struggle. He remained calm and collected, much to
the dismay of the some nervous passengers, who were certain the train
would be held up by Black Harry's Braves, who would be on hand to rescue
their chief.

Jones heard one man declaring over and over that he knew the train would
not reach Elreno without a hold-up, and the detective immediately
declared:

"If an attempt is made to rescue Black Harry, it will be very
unfortunate for Harry, as I shall immediately shoot him. I do not
propose to let him escape, to continue his career of crime and
devastation."

The boy smiled, in a scornful and pitying way.

When the train drew into Elreno, a great crowd was seen on the platform
of the station, and, for the first time, a troubled look came to the
face of the youthful prisoner.

"The whole town has turned out to see Black Harry and the man who
captured him," said Jones, swelling with importance.

Frank said nothing; he knew well enough that such a crowd was dangerous
in many cases. What if it were generally believed that he was, in truth,
Black Harry, and the mob should take a fancy to lynch him? His chance of
escaping a speedy death would be slim, indeed!

The train stopped, and, with his hand clutching the boy's shoulder,
Jones descended to the platform.

"Thar he is!"

The cry went up, and the crowd surged toward the two.

"Stan' back hyar!"

A man that was six feet and four inches in height, and weighed at least
two hundred and fifty pounds, forced his way through the throng, casting
men to the right and left with his muscular arms. He had a hard,
weather-tanned face, and looked as if he did not fear the Evil One
himself.

"Are you Burchel Jones, ther detective?" asked this man, as he loomed
before Jones and his captive.

"I am, sir," was the dignified reply; "and this is Black Harry. I
surrender him to you, and claim the reward offered for his capture."

"Thet ther skunk known as Black Harry?" said the giant sheriff, in
evident surprise. "He don't look like a desperado. Wal, we'll soon
settle all doubts on thet yar point, fer Miss Dawson is hyar, an' she
will recognize him ef he is Black Harry. Come on, boy."

Kildare, the sheriff, for such the giant was, again forced a path
through the crowd.

In the station door, a woman and a girl were standing. The girl was not
more than seventeen, and