Miss Thackeray. "My God, I wouldn't have THAT on my hand for a million
dollars."

The doctor had been working over the prostrate form on the tables. As
Barnes entered the room, he looked up and declared that the man was
dead.

"This is Mr. Barnes," said Putnam Jones, indicating the tall traveller
with a short jerk of his thumb.

"I am from the sheriff's office," said the man who stood beside the
doctor. The rest of the crowd evidently had been ordered to stand back
from the tables. The sheriff was a burly fellow, whose voice shook in
a most incongruous manner, despite his efforts to appear composed and
otherwise efficient. "Did you ever see this man before?"

"Not until he was carried in here half an hour ago. I arrived here
this evening."

"What's your business up here, Mr. Barnes?"

"I have no business up here. I just happened to stroll in this
evening."

"Well," said the sheriff darkly, "I guess I'll have to ask you to
stick around here till we clear this business up. We don't know you
an'--Well, we can't take any chances. You understand, I reckon."

"I certainly fail to understand, Mr. Sheriff. I know nothing whatever
of this affair and I intend to continue on my way to-morrow morning."