Tearing away from Paradise Road, Jordan Morse drove madly up the hill. No one had seen him come; no one had seen him go. He must get in touch with Molly immediately. In his nervous state he had to confide in some one.

Molly had settled Mrs. King in an easy chair and was on the lawn, pacing restlessly to and fro, when Jordan swiftly drove his machine through the gate and up to the veranda. Catching one hasty glimpse of his haggard face, the woman knew something extraordinary had happened.

“I’ve put my foot in it, all right,” he ejaculated, jumping to the soft grass. “My God! I don’t know what I have done!”

Molly’s face blanched.

“Tell me quickly,” she implored.

Jordan repeated his conversation with Maudlin Bates, stating how his plans had suddenly matured on hearing the wood gatherer denounce King and Grandoken.

Then he proceeded a little more calmly.

“It seems I hadn’t been at the side door of Grandoken’s shack a minute before Theodore drove up.”

Molly’s hands came together.

“Theodore?” she repeated breathlessly.

“Yes, and the Bates man was with Grandoken. I heard loud talking, stole into the little hall, and found the back 241 part of the house empty. Jinnie wasn’t there; at least I didn’t see her. Bates had already inveigled Mrs. Grandoken away. I opened the door into the cobbler’s shop just as Theo was striking Bates in the face. I waited a minute, and as Theo struck out again, I fired––”

“Fired!” gasped Molly.

“Yes, at Grandoken. I wanted to kill him––”

“But Theo—you might have hit Theodore, Jordan.”

“But I didn’t, I tell you! I’m sure I didn’t. If I hit any one, ’twas Bates or the cobbler.... Get back near the veranda for fear Theodore ’phones.”

No sooner had the words left his lips than a bell sounded from the house. Molly ran up the steps. As she took down the receiver, she dropped it, but picked it up again.

“Halloa,” she called faintly.

“Is this Theodore King’s home?” shouted a voice.

“Yes.”

“Mr. King’s had an accident. He’s in the hospital. Break the news carefully to his mother, please.”

Dazedly, Molly slipped the receiver back to its hook. She stumbled to the porch and down the steps, her face ashen with anguish.

“You shot Theo, Jordan,” she cried hysterically.

“Shut your head,” growled Morse, glancing furtively about. “Don’t talk so loud.... Now then, listen! There’ll be hell to pay for this. But Bates won’t peach, and I’m sure I clipped the cobbler’s wings. Keep quiet till you hear from me.”

He sprang again into the machine and was gone before the woman could gather her wits together.

She turned and went slowly up the steps. It was her duty to break the news to Theodore’s mother—she who knew so much, but dared to tell so little! How to open the conversation with the gentle sufferer she knew not. 242

Mrs. King smiled a greeting as she entered, but at the sight of Molly’s face, her book dropped to the floor.

“What is it?” she stammered.

Molly knelt down beside her.

“Probably very little,” she said hastily. “Don’t get excited—please—but—but––”

“It’s Theodore!” gasped the mother, intuitively.

“He’s hurt a little, just a little, and they’ve taken him to the hospital.”

Mrs. King tried to rise, but dropped back weakly.

“He’s badly hurt or he’d come home.”

“I’ll find out,” offered Molly eagerly. Then as an afterthought, “I’ll go if you’ll promise me to stay very quiet until I get back.”

“I promise,” said Mrs. King, sobbing, “but go quickly! I simply can’t be still when I’m uncertain.”

In another house of lesser proportions, a girl was huddled in a chair, gazing at Lafe Grandoken.

“An’ they told you over the telephone he was dyin’?” he demanded, looking at Jinnie.

“Yes,” gulped Jinnie, “and Maudlin’s dead. The hospital people say Mr. King can’t live.” The last words were stammered and scarcely audible. “Lafe, who shot him?”

“I dunno,” said Lafe.

“Didn’t you see who had the gun?” persisted the girl, wiping her eyes.

“Mr. King didn’t have it; nuther did Maudlin. It came from over there, an’ I heard a car drive away right after.”

Jinnie shook her head hopelessly. It was all so mysterious that her heart was gripped with fright. A short time before, an officer had been there cross-questioning Lafe suspiciously. Then he had gone away with the 243 pistol in his pocket. She stared out of the window, fear-shadowed. In a twinkling her whole love world had tumbled about her ears, and she listened as the cobbler told her once more the story of the hour she’d been away with Bobbie.

“There’re two men coming here right now,” she said suddenly, getting up. “Lafe, there’s Burns, the cop on this beat.”

“They’re wantin’ to find out more, I presume,” replied Lafe wearily.

As the men entered the shop, Jinnie backed away and stood with rigid muscles. She was dizzily frightened at the sight of the gruff officers, who had not even saluted Lafe.

The foremost man was a stranger to them both.

“Are you Lafe Grandoken?” he demanded, looking at the cobbler.

“Yes,” affirmed Lafe.

The man flourished a paper with staid importance.

“I’m the sheriff of this county, an’ I’ve a warrant for your arrest for murderin’ Maudlin Bates,” he sing-songed.

Jinnie sprang forward.

“Lafe didn’t shoot ’im,” she cried desperately.

The man eyed her critically.

“Did you do it, kid?” he asked, smiling.

“No, I wasn’t here!” answered Jinnie, short-breathed.

“Then how’d you know he didn’t do it?”

For a moment Jinnie was nonplussed. Then she came valiantly to her friend’s aid.

“I know he didn’t. Of course he didn’t, you wicked, wicked men! Don’t you dare touch ’im, don’t you dare!”

“Well, he’s got to go with me,” affirmed the man in ugly, sneering tones. “Whistle for the patrol, Burns, and we’ll wheel the Jew in!” 244

Jinnie heard, as in a hideous dream, the shrill, trilling whistle; heard the galloping of horses and saw a long black wagon draw up to the steps.

When the two sullen men laid violent hold of the wheelchair, Jinnie’s terrified fingers reached toward the cobbler, and the sheriff gave her hand a sharp blow. Lafe uttered an inarticulate cry, and at that moment Jinnie forgot “Happy in Spite,” forgot Lafe’s angels and the glory of them, and sprang like a tiger at the man who had struck her. She flung one arm about his neck and fought him with tooth and nails. So surprised was Policeman Burns that he stood with staring eyes, making no move to rescue his mate from the tigerish girl.

“Damn you! Damn you!” screamed Jinnie. “I’ll kill you before you take ’im.”

Lafe cried out again, calling her name gently, imploringly, and tenderly. When his senses returned, Burns grasped Jinnie in his arms and held her firmly. There she stood panting, trying to break away from the policeman’s detaining fingers. She looked half crazed in the dimming late afternoon light.

“Merciful God, but you’re a tartar, miss!” said the sheriff ruefully. “Well, if she ain’t clawed the blood clean through my skin!”

“She comes of bad stock,” exclaimed Burns. “You can’t expect any more of Jews. Go on; I’ll hold ’er till you and Mike get the chair out.”

Hearing this, Jinnie began to sob hysterically and make more desperate efforts to free herself. The viselike fingers pressed deeper into her tender flesh.

“Here, huzzy, you needn’t be tryin’ none of your muck on me,” said Burns. “Keep still or I’ll break your arm.”

Jinnie sickened with pain, and her eyes sought Lafe’s. If he’d been in his coffin, he couldn’t have been whiter. 245

“Jinnie,” he chided brokenly, “you’ve forgot what I told you, ain’t you, lass?”

Through the suffering, tender mind flashed the words he’d taught her.

“There aren’t any angels, Lafe,” she sobbed. “There aren’t any.”

Then, as another man entered the shop, she cried: “Don’t take ’im, oh, please don’t take ’im, not now, not just yet, not till Peggy gets back.”

Turning around in his chair, Lafe looked up at the men.

“Could—I—say—good-bye—to my—wife?” he asked brokenly.

“Where is she?” demanded the officer.

“Gone to the store,” answered Lafe. “She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Let ’er come to the jail,” snapped the angry sheriff. “She’ll have plenty of time to say good-bye there.”

At that they tugged the chair through the narrow door. Then two boards were found upon which to roll it into the patrol.

Inside the shop Jinnie was quiet now, save for the convulsions that rent her body. She looked up at the man holding her.

“Let me go,” she implored. “I’ll be good, awful good.”

Perhaps it was the pleading blue eyes that made the officer release her arms. Jinnie sprang to the door, and as Lafe saw her, he smiled, oh such a smile! The girl ran madly to him.

“Lafe! Lafe!” she screamed. “Lafe dear!”

Lafe bent, touched the shining black curls, and a glorified expression spread over his face.

“He’s given His angels charge over you, lass,” he murmured, “an’ it’s a fact you’re not to forget.” 246

Then they rolled him up the planks and into the wagon. With clouded eyes Jinnie watched the black patrol bowl along toward the bridge, and as it halted a moment on Paradise Road to allow an engine to pass, the cobbler leaned far out of his wheel chair and waved a thin white hand at her. Then like a deer she ran ahead until she came within speaking distance of him. The engine passed with a shrieking whistle, and the horses received a sharp crack and galloped off. Jinnie flung out her arms.

“Lafe!” she screamed. “I’ll stay with Peg till you come.”

He heard the words, waved once more, and the wagon disappeared over the bridge.

For full ten minutes after Lafe was taken away, Jinnie sat in the shop like one turned to stone. The thing that roused her was the side door opening and shutting. She got up quickly and went into the little hall, closing the shop door behind her. Mrs. Grandoken, with bundles in her hands, was entering the kitchen. Jinnie staggered after her.

“Peggy,” murmured Jinnie, throwing her arms about the stooped shoulders. “You’ll be good––”

It was as if she had said it to Bobbie, tenderly, low-pitched, and imploring. Peg seemed so miserable and thin.

“What’s the matter with you, kid?” growled Mrs. Grandoken.

“The town folks,” groaned Jinnie, “the town folks’ve made a mistake, an awful mistake.”

Mrs. Grandoken turned sunken eyes upon the speaker.

“What mistake’ve they made?”

Jinnie’s throat hurt so she couldn’t say any more.

“What mistake?” asked Peg again.

“They think Lafe shot––” 247

Peggy wheeled on the hesitating speaker. Shoving her to one side, she stalked through the door. Jinnie flew after her.

“Peggy, Peg, he’ll come back!”

Mrs. Grandoken opened the shop door and the empty room with overturned chairs and scattered tools told its silent, eloquent tale.

“Honey,” whispered Jinnie. “Honey dear––”

“God’s Jesus,” muttered Peg, with roving eyes, “God’s Jesus, save my man!”

Then she slid to the floor, and when she once more opened her eyes, Jinnie was throwing water in her face.