FELDER TAKES A CASE
The sheriff stopped his automobile before the dingy telegraph office.
The street had been ringing that evening with more exciting events than
it had known in a year.
"He's off," he said disgustedly to the men who had curiously gathered.
"He must have got wind of it somehow, and he had a horse ready. We
traced the hoof-prints from the cabin as far as the Hollow. I'm going to
use the wire."
"That's a lie!" rumbled an angry voice behind him, as Devlin strode into
the crowd. "Hugh Stires gave himself up fifteen minutes ago at the
jail."
"How do you know that?" demanded the sheriff, relieved but chagrined at
his fool's-errand.
"Because I saw him do it," answered Devlin surlily. "I was there."
"Well, it saves trouble for me. That'll tickle you, Felder," the sheriff
added satirically, turning toward the lawyer. "You're a sentimentalist,
and he's been your special fancy. What do you think now, eh?"
"I'll tell you what _I_ think," said Devlin, his big hands working. "I
think it's a damned lie of Prendergast's!"
"Oh, ho!" exclaimed the sheriff amusedly. "You once danced to a
different tune, Devlin!"
The blood was in the big, lowering face. "I did," he admitted. "I went
up against him when the liquor was in me, and by the same token he wiped
this street with me. He stood me fair and he whipped me, and I needed
it, though I hated him well enough afterwards. An'--an'--"
He gulped painfully. No one spoke.
"It's many's the time since then I've wished the hand was shrivelled
that heaved that rock at him in the road! The day when I saw my bit of a
lass, holdin' to the horse's mane, ridin' to her death in the
Hollow--an'--when he brought her back--" He stopped, struggling with
himself, tears rolling down his cheeks.
"No murderer did that!" he burst out. "We gave him the back of the hand
an' the sole of the foot, an' we kept to it, though he fought it down
an' lived straight an' decent. He never did it! I don't care what they
say! I'll see Prendergast in hell before I'll believe it, or any dirty
paper he saved to swear a man's life away."
The listeners were silent. No one had ever heard such a speech from the
huge owner of the dance-hall. The sheriff lighted a cigar before he
said:
"That's all right, Devlin. We all understand your prejudices, but I'm
afraid they haven't much weight with legal minds, like Mr. Felder's
here, for instance."
"Excuse me," said Felder. "I fear my prejudices are with Devlin. Good
night," he added, moving up the street.
"Where are you bound?" asked the other casually.
"To the jail," answered the lawyer, "to see a client--I hope."
The sheriff emitted a low whistle. "_I_ hope there'll be enough sane men
left to get a jury!" he said.