They ascended the court-house steps, and went down the long corridor to
the rear of the building. Here they passed out through wide doors and
into a narrow yard that separated the court-house from the jail.
Crossing this sandy strip they entered the sheriff's office. Conklin
paused; North gazed at him inquiringly.

"It's too bad, John," said the sheriff.

Then without further words he led North to a door opposite that by which
they had entered. It opened on a long brick-paved passageway, at the end
of which was a flight of narrow stairs. Ascending these North found
himself in another long hall. Conklin paused before the first of three
doors on the right and pushed it open.

"I guess this will do, John!" he said.

North stepped quickly in and glanced about him. The room held an iron
bedstead, a wooden chair and, by the window which overlooked the jail
yard and an alley beyond, a wash-stand with a tin basin and pitcher.

"Say, ain't you going to see a lawyer?" asked the sheriff. "He may be
able to get you out of this, you can't tell--"

"Can you send a message to young Watt Harbison for me?" interrupted
North.

"Certainly, but you don't call him much of a lawyer, do you? I tell you,
John, you want a _good_ lawyer; what's the matter with Marsh Langham?"