t fifteen a month, and ain't
got the nerve to keep it! Poor old Bell."

Corporal, roused from his slumbers, sniffed inquiringly at the many
garments spread about the fire, yawned, turned around several times in
dog fashion, then curled up beside Phelan, signifying by his bored
expression that he hadn't the slightest interest in the matter under
discussion.

Gradually the darkness closed in, and the fire died to embers. It would
be four hours before the night freight slowed up at the water tank, and
Phelan, tired from his long tramp, and drowsy from the heat and the
vapor rising from the drying clothes, shifted the shoe-buttons from
under his left ear, and drifted into dreamland.

How long he slept undisturbed, only the scarecrow outside knew. He was
dimly aware, in his dreams, of subdued sounds and, by and by, the sounds
formed themselves into whispered words and, still half asleep, he
listened.

"I thought we'd find him along here. This is the road they always take,"
a low voice was saying; "you and Sam stand here, John and me'll tackle
him from this side. He'll put up a stiff fight, you bet."

Phelan opened his eyes, and tried to remember where he was.

"Gosh! look at that bulldog!" came another whisper, and at the same
moment Corporal jumped to his feet, growling angrily.

As he did so, four men sprang through the opening of the shed, and
seized Phelan by the arms and legs.

"Look out there," cried one excitedly; "don't let him escape; here's the
handcuffs."

"But here," cried Phelan, "what's up; what you doing to me?"

By this time Corporal, thoroughly roused, made a vicious lunge at the
nearest man. The next minute there was a sharp report of a pistol, and
the bull-terrier went yelping and limping out into the night.

"You coward!" cried Phelan, struggling to rise, "if you killed that
dog--"

"Get those shackles on his legs," shouted one of the men. "Is the wagon
ready, Sam? Take his legs there, I've got his head. Leave the truck
here, we've got to drive like sand to catch that train!"

After being dragged to the road and thrown into a spring wagon, Phelan
found himself lying on his back, jolting over a rough country road, his
three vigilant captors sitting beside him with pistols in hand.

Any effort on his part to explain or seek information was promptly and
emphatically discouraged. But in time he gathered, from the bits let
fall by his captors, that he was an escaped convict, of a most desperat