continued and the sky overhead was inky black.

Through the alley, to the jail door, drove the town marshal, the young
McCarthy sitting in the buggy beside him. A man rushed forward to hold the
horse. McCarthy's face was chalky white. He laughed and shouted, raising
his hand toward the sky.

"I am Michael, son of God. I have cut a man with a knife so that his red
blood ran upon the ground. I am the son of God and this filthy jail shall
be my sanctuary. In there I shall talk aloud with my Father," he roared
hoarsely, shaking his fist at the crowd. "Sons of this cesspool of
respectability, stay and hear! Send for your females and let them stand in
the presence of a man!"

Taking the white, wild-eyed man by the arm Marshal Higgins led him into
the jail, the clank of locks, the low murmur of the voice of Higgins and
the wild laughter of McCarthy floating out to the group of silent men
standing in the mud of the alley.

Sam McPherson ran past the group of men to the side of the jail and
finding John Telfer and Valmore leaning silently against the wall of Tom
Folger's wagon shop slipped between them. Telfer put out his arm and laid
it upon the boy's shoulder. Hop Higgins, coming out of the jail, addressed
the crowd. "Don't answer if he talks," he said; "he is as crazy as a
loon."

Sam moved closer to Telfer. The voice of the imprisoned man, loud, and
filled with a startling boldness, rolled out of the jail. He began
praying.