"Ye wouldn' murder me, cap'n," gasped the hapless man. In a trice
Abner had hauled him out from behind the bar, and tripped him up on
the floor. Then three other men, together with Abner, seized him by
the hands and feet, and half dragged, half carried him across the room
to the door in the middle of one of the sides which opened into the
jail corridor.

"Swing the cuss three times, so's ter git kinder a goin, an then we'll
see w'ether his head or the door's the thickest," said Abner.

"Giv' em the keys, Marthy. They're a killin me," screeched Bement.

The woman had set her teeth. Her face was a little whiter, the red
spots under her cheek bones were a little smaller and a little redder
than before. That was all the sign she gave. Putting her hand
convulsively over the spot on her bosom where the desired articles
were secreted, she replied in a shrill voice:

"I shell keep the keys, Cephas. It's my dewty. Pray, Cephas, that I
may hev strength given me ter dew my dewty."

"Ye won't see me killed 'fore yer eyes, will ye, give em the keys I
tell ye," shrieked Bement, as they began to swing him, and Abner said:

"One."

The woman looked a bit more like going into hysterics, but not a whit
more like yielding.

"Mebbe t'wont kill ye, an they can't bust the door, nohow. Mebbe they'll