and Mart stood up. "I'll show you
where she is, sure. But can't you leave her be till we're ready to
start? She--it ain't right to bring her here."

"She'll want her supper," the sheriff reminded Mart. "We'll be driving
all night. Is she sick abed?"

Casey lay down again and turned his face to the wall. He remembered
the old woman now, and he hoped sincerely they would not bring her into
the cabin. But whatever they did, Casey wanted no part in it whatever.
He wanted to be left alone, and he wanted to think. More than all else
he wanted not to see again the old woman who chanted horrible things
while she rocked and rocked.

He was roused from uneasy slumber by two officious souls, one of whom
was Barney Oakes. Their intentions were kindly enough, they only
wanted to give him his supper. But Casey wanted neither supper nor
kindly intentions, and he was still unregenerately regretful that
Barney Oakes was not lying out on the garbage heap in a more or less
fragmentary condition. They raised him to a sitting posture, and Casey
swung his legs over the edge of the bunk and delivered a ferocious kick
at Barney Oakes.

He caught Barney under the chin, and Barney went down for several
counts. After that Casey wore hobbles on his feet, and was secretly
rather proud of the fact that they considered him so dangerous as all
that. Had his mood not been a sulky one which refused to have speech
with any one there, they would probably have found it wise to gag him
as well.

That is one night in Casey's turbulent life which he never recalled if
he could help it. Two cars had brought the sheriff's party, and one
was a seven-passenger. In the roomy rear seat of this car, Casey,
shackled and savage, was made to ride with Mart and his mother. Two
deputies occupied the folding seats and never relaxed their
watchfulness.

Casey's head still ached splittingly, and the jolting of the car did
not serve to ease the pain. The old woman sat in the middle, with a
blanket wound round and round her to hold her quiet; which it failed to
do. Into Casey's ear rolled the full volume of her rich contralto
voice as she monotonously intoned the doom of all mankind--together
with every cat, every rat, etc. Mart's fear had proved well-founded.
Strangers had excited the woman and it was not until sheer exhaustion
silenced her that she ceased for one moment her horrible chant.

I read the story in the morning paper, and made a flying trip