's cell; the jailer
opened the way. "Michael," he gasped, "we have found Squeaks; we know
you are innocent."

Michael was the calmest of all. "Whatever is God's will I'll take
without a grumble," he said, and sat smoking.

At a quarter to twelve the Sheriff appeared.

"Why, Sheriff, you are not going to--when you know the reprieve is on
the way. You are not going to let a technicality lead you into murder?"

"I have no change in my instructions," said the Sheriff, "and no proof
that any change is on the way."

"Why; this is monstrous," gasped Jim. "An hour's delay is all we ask, so
the Governor can be reached."

The Sheriff motioned the guard to move on, and Shay walked firmly
between the two officers. They came into the prison yard. There
assembled were a score of officials and newspaper men.

"Have you any final statement to make?" asked the State officials.

"Nothing, only that I am innocent and Squeaks is alive at this moment."

That was an old story--an old trick to win time. The officers were
preparing to act, when Hartigan pale and exultant, swinging the last
telegram before the Sheriff, re-read it and for the first time truly got
its meaning. He said: "Let us pray."

They kneeled down, all of them, in accordance with the ancient custom,
and Jim began to pray. His voice was broken and husky, but it grew
steadier as he appealed to the God of Justice and Mercy. He prayed and
prayed; the clock struck twelve, but still he prayed. "Pray without
ceasing," Belle's message had said. His gift of speech stood by him now;
a quarter of an hour passed and still he was pouring out petitions to
the throne of grace; another quarter of an hour and his voice was a
little weary, but he prayed on. Still another, and another, and the
clock struck one. All those men still kneeled, dead silent, except for a
low, sobbing sound from the little group farther off. The Sheriff waited
uneasily; he coughed a little and waited for a gap--but there was no
gap; Jim bared his heart to God that day. He prayed as he never did
before and all his bodily strength went into his prayer. At a quarter
past one, when he was still calling on the God of Life for help, the
Sheriff knew not what to do, for by the unwritten law the man of God had
a right to finish his prayer. At half past one, the Sheriff moved
uneasily and at length uttered a faint "Amen," as though to give the
signal to stop. As it had no effect he realized for the first time just