"If you will walk slowly," suggested Madison, "I'll speak to the little
Holmes boy and his parents, and bring them with us."

He moved away as he spoke--in the direction of a racking cough, that
rose above the confused, murmuring, whispering, shaken voices on every
hand; and in a little knot of people he was, for a moment, pressed close
against Pale Face Harry.

"All right," whispered Pale Face Harry, "it's in your pocket now--but,
say, no more runs like that for me, I'm all in. I thought sure I was
cured myself--I hadn't coughed for--"

"Never mind about that now," said Madison rapidly. "I want the crowd
kept away from the doors of the bank vault if they show any tendency to
get too close, though I don't think that'll happen--they're too numbed
and scared yet. But you know the game. Keep the awe going and the 'holy
ground' signs up. Anybody that steps across that stretch between the
trees and the cottage on and after the present date of writing does it
with bowed head and his shoes off--get the idea?"

Pale Face Harry grinned.

"That's easy," he said. "Anything'd steer 'em now--they're like sheep.
Leave it to me to keep the soft pedal on."

With a nod, Madison turned away, the tense expression on his face
assumed again--and presently he was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, and
patting the boy's head in a clumsy, overwrought way.