Shawn was clearing away the supper dishes. Burney tilted his hickory chair against the wall and puffed at his short pipe. Coaly was asleep in the corner. "Shawn, when you git through I want you to read me some more out of your Testament—I'm gittin' to like it."

Shawn carefully wiped his hands before taking up the little book. Seating himself by the table, and drawing the lamp nearer, he opened the book at random. The chapter was Revelation, XIII.

Shawn began reading in a halting and uncertain voice: "And I stood upon the sands of the sea and saw a beast rise out of the sea having seven heads and ten horns."

"Hold on there, Shawn," said Burney, "Is that in the Bible?"

"Yes, sir, you can see for yourself."

"I can't read to no account," said Burney, "but air you certain that's in the Bible?"

"Yes, sir."

Burney scratched his head and crossed his legs. "Well, all I've got to say is, that there must a been a leak some'ers around a distillery when that feller got to writin'. I don't read much, but I read in the Bible once about an old feller by the name of Job, who comes up to a feller by the name of Amasa, and Job pertendin' to be his friend, took him by the whiskers, like he was going to kiss him, and Job said, 'How's your health, brother Amasa?' and before Amasa could answer, Job cut him in the fifth rib with a corn-knife or sunthin'. Maybe times have changed since them days, but it still pays to watch a man who comes up to you with his hand behind him, and there ain't no man goin' to take me by the whiskers when he says howdy—I've larn't that much from the Bible—but you stick to that Book, Shawn, even if some of the stories do make you set up and take notice, it's a good Book to live by and a better one to die by. Stick to it, Shawn—I'm goin' to bed."

Shawn went out and sat on the bow of the boat. The night was beautiful. Along the shore the willows were rustling as the south wind kissed their foliage. The moon was coming over the hill, a full, round, voluptuous moon. The tiny reflections of the stars quivered in the depths of the stream. From the head of the bend came the long and deepened breathing of a coal boat. A bell clangs in the engine-room, the great wheel stops as welcoming rest, the bell clangs again and the boat swings on, standing for the channel. Afar up the river, Shawn saw a lurid light against the sky. The heightened colors came and went in flashes and spurts. That light could not come from the headlight of a steamer. Shawn went quietly to the door and called Burney. Burney came to the door of the boat, rubbing his eyes. "Must be a house burning, from the looks of it." They stood on the shanty-boat until the light began to diminish and then went to bed. Burney was unable to sleep. Presently he got up and turned up the wick of the lamp. Coaly went over and nestled by his feet. Suddenly Burney heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Coaly began to growl and moved nearer the door. Shawn was peering out of his bunk. Burney opened the door as two men came up the gang-plank. They were breathing hard and looked as though they had been running. One of them was untying the chain of the john-boat, and said, "We want your boat to get across the river; we're in a hurry."

"Let go of that chain," said Burney, as he raised a musket to his shoulder. "You can't have that boat, and I want you to get off of this boat at once."

The men drew back, they were desperate looking characters, but they heard the determined tone of Burney's voice and they stepped ashore and made off down the beach. Burney turned to Shawn and said, "Somethin' is wrong; them fellers have done somethin'. What's that?" They could hear the deep baying of a hound. "My God, they's bloodhounds!"

There is something strangely weird in the sound of a bloodhound's voice coming across the night—something that seems to tell of death. The trail was fresh and the dogs were coming under full yelp.

"Put on your shoes and come out front, Shawn," said Burney. Eight or ten men came down through the willows, one man in front and holding the hounds by a leash. Each man was armed with a shotgun. The dogs came to the gang-plank, and stopped at the water, and lapped it with their long, yellow tongues.

"Whose boat is this, and who's here?" asked one of the men. Old John answered in a clear and unshaken voice, "I am John Burney, and this is my boat." One of the men came forward and extending his hand, said, "I know John Burney; there's nothing wrong with him, but Burney, can you throw any light on these tracks leading here?" Burney told them of the two men, of their wanting his boat to cross the river. "They went down the shore," said Burney, "about twenty minutes ago; your dogs oughtn't to have much trouble in locating the track, but tell me what's wrong?" The man holding the dogs answered, "Casper Daniel's country store was robbed and burned just after he had gone to bed, and Daniels was either murdered or lost in the fire."

Shawn shuddered and crept back into the boat. The men put the dogs on the trail. Shawn heard them baying as they went down through the deep cottonwood grove. "No sleep for me to-night," said Burney. The voices of the hounds came in faint baying. Burney restlessly paced the shore until the first streaks of dawn. About five o'clock he heard the men coming back. They came down to the boat. Handcuffed together were the two criminals, their haggard faces bore the look of despair. They were sullen and silent, and as Shawn stood gazing at them, he could not repress a feeling of pity, although their hands were stained with human blood. They were taken up the road to the little town and placed in the jail. Shawn and Burney followed the men. Around the jail was a crowd of excited men and loud voices were heard on every side. Men were coming out of the saloon on the corner just beyond the jail. They stood around in groups and angry mutterings were heard. Suddenly there seemed to be a concerted move in front of the jail. A young lawyer sprang upon a box and pleaded with the crowd to let the law take its course.

"Law!" exclaimed a black-whiskered man, "we've never had any law that money couldn't buy!"

"Hang 'em! Hang 'em!" yelled the crowd. A rush was made for the jail. The jailor was making a feeble pretense of protecting his prisoners. A heavy sledge crashed against the door, the jailor was knocked down and the keys taken from him.

"There they are! Bring 'em out!"

The poor wretches were dragged out, moaning piteously and begging for their lives. Shawn turned away, sick at heart, but something seemed to hold him to the spot.

"Don't kill us, men, for God's sake don't kill us!" pleaded one of the criminals but his voice was drowned in the uproar of the maddened crowd.

"That lower limb will do, boys, everybody pull!"

A cloud afar off in the sky seemed to float across the sun. They cut the two rigid bodies down at noon. Shawn and Burney returned to the boat. A rain-crow was calling softly from a willow tree, and the ripples murmured sorrowfully on the shore. Shawn touched Burney on the arm as they stood by the boat: "Mr. Burney, there's a Memphis packet due up here to-night. I don't like to leave you, but I'm goin' home—I've just got to go."