CHAPTER VII.
IN JAIL.
Great was the disgust of the crowd when it was found that Hank Kildarehad taken his prisoner to jail without passing along the main street ofthe town. It was declared a mean trick on Hank's part, and some excitedfellows were for resenting it by breaking into the jail at once andbringing the boy out and "hangin' him up whar everybody could see him."
The ones who made this kind of talk had been "looking on the bug-juicewhen it was red," and they finally contented themselves by growling andtaking another look.
In the meantime, Frank found himself confined in a cell, and he began torealize that he was in a very bad scrape.
Throughout all the excitement at the railroad station, he had remainedcool and collected, but now, when he came to think the matter over, hisanger rose swiftly, and he felt that the whole business was mostoutrageous.
Still, when he remembered everything, he did not wonder that the mob hadlonged to lynch him.
Black Harry was a youthful desperado of the worst sort. He haddevastated, plundered, robbed, and murdered in a most infamous manner,his last act being the shooting of Robert Dawson, the Eastern banker.
And Lona Dawson, the banker's daughter, had looked straight into ourhero's face and declared that he was Black Harry!
"It is a horrible mistake!" cried Frank, as he paced the cell into whichhe had been thrust. "She believed she spoke the truth. This youngoutlaw must resemble me. I cannot blame her."
The manacles chafed his wrists.
"Are they going to leave those things on me, now that they have me safein jail?" he cried.
His door opened into the corridor, and he called to the guard, askingthat the irons might be removed.
"I believe Hank has gone fer ther key," said the guard "He didn't takeit from ther detective what put them irons on yer."
"Will they be removed when he returns with the key?"
"I reckon."
"Then I hope he will hurry. I am tired of carrying the things."
He turned back, to pace the cell once more.
"This is a flimsily-constructed building," he said. "It would be an easything to break in here and drag a prisoner out. I escaped death at thehands of the mob because I had friends at hand to fight for me, andbecause Hank Kildare is utterly fearless, and was determined to bring mehere. But the whole town may become aroused, and to-night---- What ifRobert Dawson should die!"
The thought fairly staggered him, for he knew the death of the woundedbanker would again inflame the passions of the citizens, and a nightraid might be made on the jail.
"They would stand a good show of forcing their way in here, and then itwould be all up with me."
It was a terrible thing to stand in peril of such a death. Frank feltthat he could not die thus; he would live to clear his honor.
But what could he do? He was helpless, and he could not fight forhimself. Must he remain impassive, and let events go on as they might?
"I do not believe fortune has deserted me," he whispered. "I shall begiven a chance to fight for myself."
It seemed long hours before the sheriff appeared, accompanied by BurchelJones, the foxy-faced private detective.
"Has he been disarmed?" cautiously asked Jones, as he peered at the boythrough the grating in the door.
"Yep," replied Kildare, shortly. "Do you think I'm in ther habit o'monkeying with ther prisoners yar?"
"H'm! Ha! No, no--of course not! But, you see, this fellow isdangerous--very dangerous. He is not to be trusted."
"Wa'al, he's been mild as milk sense he fell inter my hands."
"Trickery, my dear sir--base trickery! By the time you have handled somany desperate criminals as I have, you will see through them likeglass."
Kildare grunted.
"Now," continued Jones, with the wisdom of an old owl, "mark the curl ofhis lip, and the bold, defiant stare of the eye. Mark the covert smileon that face, as if he were really laughing at us now. All those thingsare significant--mighty significant. You do not dream of the treacheryhidden beneath that boyish exterior; but I, sir, can see by his eye thathe had rather cut a throat than eat a square meal. The peculiar shape ofhis lips denote blood-thirstiness, and his nose, which seems ratherfinely formed to the casual observer, is the nose of a person utterlywithout conscience. His forehead indicates a certain order ofintelligence, but this simply makes him all the more dangerous. He hasbrain power and force, and that explains why he has succeeded inbecoming a leader of desperadoes. That chin is a hard, cruel feature,while the shape of his ears indicates an utter disregard for anythingsweet and harmonious of sound, like music. That is an ear which findsmore music in the shrieks of murdered victims than in anything else."
Frank literally staggered.
"Great Scott!" he gasped. "I never before dreamed that I was such avillainous-looking creature!"
Kildare began fitting a key to the lock of the door.
"Are you sure he is disarmed?" asked the private detective.
"Yep."
"Well, you are at liberty to do as you like, but I should not removethose irons. It would be far better to keep them on him."
"Why?"
"Well, you see--that is--hum!--ha!--such a creature cannot be held toofast. There is no telling what he is liable to do."
Kildare gave a grunt of disgust, entered the cell, and removed themanacles from Frank's wrists.
"Thank you," said the boy, gratefully. "They were beginning to getirksome. I am glad to get them off."
"Ther man what calls hisself Professor Scotch has dispatched East feryer," said the sheriff. "He sw'ars thar has been a mistake made, an' hekin prove you are what ye claim, an' not Black Harry at all."
"That can be easily proven," smiled Frank. "All we want is a littletime."
"Trickery! Trickery!" cried Jones from the corridor. "They will do theirbest to get his neck out of the noose; but he is Black Harry, and Ishall receive the reward for his capture."
"You'll receive it when it is proved thet he is Black Harry, so don'tyer worry," growled Kildare, who had taken a strong dislike to thefoxy-faced detective.
"He has been identified by Miss Dawson; that is proof enough."
To this Kildare said nothing; but he spoke again to the boy:
"Make yerself as easy as yer kin, an' be shore ye'll hev a fair showfrom Hank Kildare. Thar's talk in town about lynchin', but they don'ttake yer out o' hyar so long as I kin handle a shootin' iron. I'm goin'ter stay hyar ter-night, an' I'll be reddy fer 'em ef they come."
"Thank you again," said Frank, sincerely. "All I ask is a square dealand a fair show. I know it looks black against me just now, but I'llclear my honor."
Burchel Jones laughed, sneeringly.
Kildare said nothing more, but left the cell, locking the door behindhim.
At noon Frank was brought an assortment of food that made his eye bulge.He asked if that was the regular fare in the jail, and was told it hadbeen sent in by his friends.
"The professor and Barney, God bless them! I wonder why they have leftme alone so long? But I know they are working for me."
It was late in the afternoon when Barney appeared, and was admitted tothe cell. The Irish lad gave Frank's hand a warm squeeze, and cried:
"It's Satan's own scrape, me lad; but we'll get ye out av it if th'spalpanes will let yez alone ter-noight. Av they joomp yez, we'll behere ter foight ter ther last gasp."
"I know you will, Barney!" said Frank, with deep feeling. "You are myfriend through thick and thin. But, say, do you think there is muchdanger of lynchers to-night?"
"Av Mishter Dawson dies, there will be danger enough, and, at lastreports it wur said he could not live more than two ur thray hours."