so little sign of fear; and
despite what the man had done, again some of her old admiration for
him thrilled through her, and with it an infinite pang of regret for
what he might have been.

At length there was moderate order, and Blake began to speak.
"Gentlemen, I do not wish to plead for myself," he said quietly, yet
in his far-carrying voice. "What I have done is beyond your
forgiveness. I merely desire to say that I am guilty; to say that I am
here to give myself into your hands. Do with me as you think best. If
you prefer immediate action, I shall go with you without resistance.
If you wish to let the law take its course, then"--here he made a
slight gesture toward Jim Nichols, who stood beside him--"then I shall
give myself into the hands of the sheriff. I await your choice."

With that he paused. A perfect hush had fallen on the crowd. This man
who had dominated them in the days of his glory, dominated them for at
least a flickering moment in this the hour of his fall. For that brief
moment all were under the spell of their habit to honour him, the
spell of his natural dignity, the spell of his direct words.

Then the spell was over. The storm broke loose again. There were cries
for immediate action, and counter cries in favour of the law. The two
cries battled with each other. For a space there was doubt as to which
was the stronger. Then that for the law rose louder and louder and
drowned the other out.

Sheriff Nichols slipped his arm through Blake's.

"I guess you're going to come with me," he said.

"I am ready," was Blake's response.

He turned about to Katherine.

"You deserved to win," he said quietly. "Thank you. Good-by."

"Good-by," said she.

The sheriff drew him away. Katherine, panting, leaning heavily against
a pillar of the porch, watched the pair go down the steps--watched the
great crowd part before them--watched them march through this human
alley-way, lighted by smoking campaign torches--watched them till they
had passed into the darkness in the direction of the jail. Then she
dizzily reached out and caught Old Hosie's arm.

"Help me home," she said weakly. "I--I feel sick."

CHAPTER XXVII

THE END OF THE BEGINNING

It was the following night, and the hour was nine. Old Hosie stood in
the sheriff's office in Galloway County jail, while Jim Nichols
scrutinized a formal looking document his visitor had just delivered
into his hands.

"It's all right, isn't it?" said