in a
tight place ever in my life but what you've sneaked out. You ain't
fit for even a hog-reeve. I'm going to cancel your constable
appointment, that's what I'll do when I get to town hall."

"I'll do it right now," declared the offended Mr. Nute, unpinning
his badge. "Any time you've ordered me to do something sensible I've
done it. But el'funts and lunatics and dynamite and some of the other
jobs you've unlo'ded onto me ain't sensible, and I won't stand for
'em. You can't take me in the face and eyes of the people and rake
me over." He had noted that the group in the highway had considerably
increased. "I've resigned."

Mr. Luce was also more or less influenced and emboldened and pricked
on by being the centre of eyes. As long as he seemed to be expected
to give a show, he proposed to make it a good one. His flaming eyes
fell on T. Taylor, busy over the stove, getting it ready for its
journey back to Vienna. Mr. Taylor, happy in the recovery of his
property, was paying little attention to outlaws or official
disputes. He had cleaned out the coals and ashes, and having just
now discovered the tin of biscuit, tossed it away. This last seemed
too much for Mr. Luce's self-control.

"I don't dast to be an outlaw, hey?" he cried, hoarsely. "That stove
is too good for me, is it? My wife's biskits throwed into the mud
and mire!"

He lighted the fuse of the dynamite, ran to the team and popped the
explosive into the stove oven and slammed the door. Then he flew to
his sack, hoisted it to his shoulder and staggered back toward the
dry well.

At this critical juncture there did not arise one of those rare
spirits to perform an act of noble self-sacrifice. There have been
those who have tossed spluttering bombs into the sea; who have
trodden out hissing fuses. But just then no one seemed to care for
the exclusive and personal custody of that stick of dynamite.

All those in teams whipped up, yelling like madmen, and those on foot
grabbed on behind and clambered over tailboards. Cap'n Sproul,
feeling safer on his own legs than in Hiram's team, pounded away down
the road with the speed of a frantic Percheron. And in all this panic
T. Taylor, only dimly realizing that there was something in his stove
that was going to cause serious trouble, obeyed the exhortations
screamed at him, cut away his horse, straddled the beast's back and
fled with the rest.

The last one in sight was Mrs. Luce, who had shown serious intentions