ieved she spoke the truth. This young
outlaw must resemble me. I cannot blame her."

The manacles chafed his wrists.

"Are they going to leave those things on me, now that they have me safe
in jail?" he cried.

His door opened into the corridor, and he called to the guard, asking
that the irons might be removed.

"I believe Hank has gone fer ther key," said the guard "He didn't take
it from ther detective what put them irons on yer."

"Will they be removed when he returns with the key?"

"I reckon."

"Then I hope he will hurry. I am tired of carrying the things."

He turned back, to pace the cell once more.

"This is a flimsily-constructed building," he said. "It would be an easy
thing to break in here and drag a prisoner out. I escaped death at the
hands of the mob because I had friends at hand to fight for me, and
because Hank Kildare is utterly fearless, and was determined to bring me
here. But the whole town may become aroused, and to-night---- What if
Robert Dawson should die!"

The thought fairly staggered him, for he knew the death of the wounded
banker would again inflame the passions of the citizens, and a night
raid might be made on the jail.

"They would stand a good show of forcing their way in here, and then it
would be all up with me."

It was a terrible thing to stand in peril of such a death. Frank felt
that he could not die thus; he would live to clear his honor.

But what could he do? He was helpless, and he could not fight for
himself. Must he remain impassive, and let events go on as they might?

"I do not believe fortune has deserted me," he whispered. "I shall be
given a chance to fight for myself."

It seemed long hours before the sheriff appeared, accompanied by Burchel
Jones, the foxy-faced private detective.

"Has he been disarmed?" cautiously asked Jones, as he peered at the boy
through the grating in the door.

"Yep," replied Kildare, shortly. "Do you think I'm in ther habit o'
monkeying with ther prisoners yar?"

"H'm! Ha! No, no--of course not! But, you see, this fellow is
dangerous--very dangerous. He is not to be trusted."

"Wa'al, he's been mild as milk sense he fell inter my hands."

"Trickery, my dear sir--base trickery! By the time you have handled so
many desperate criminals as I have, you will see through them like
glass."

Kildare grunted.

"Now," continued Jones, with the wisdom of an old owl, "mark the curl of
his lip, and the bold, defiant stare of t