eclared he
wouldn't tell Bill his hiding-place," he said, "for he didn't want to
get him into trouble. He'll tell me if he knows anything--and if he
doesn't, it's an outrage to shut him up, old as he is, and as rheumatic
as he's old."

On the way to the rudely improvised prison, Mizzoo defended himself.
"He wasn't too old and rheumatic to fight like a wildcat--why, he had
to be lifted up bodily and carried into his cell. Not a word can we
get out of him, or a bite of grub into him. I believe that old
codger's just too obstinate to die!"

When they reached the prison door, the crowd gathered about them, eager
for news, watching Mizzoo unfasten the door as if he were unlocking the
secret to Willock's whereabouts. There were loud imprecations on the
head of the murderer, and fierce prophecies as to what would happen to
Bill if he preserved his incriminating silence. It seemed but a moment
before hurrying forms from many directions packed themselves into a
mass before the jail.

The cells were in the basement. The only entrance to the building was
by means of a flight of six steps leading to an unroofed platform
before the door of the story proper. Mizzoo and Wilfred, standing on
this platform, were lifted above the heads of perhaps a hundred men who
watched eagerly the dangling bunch of keys. Mizzoo had stationed three
deputies at the foot of the steps to keep back the mob, for if the
excited men once rushed into the jail nothing could check their course.
The deputies, tall broad-shouldered fellows, pushed back the
threatening tide, always with good-natured protests,--words half
bantering, half appealing, repulsive thrusts of the arms, rough but
inflicting no hurt. So peaceful a minute before had been the Square,
it was difficult to comprehend the sudden spirit of danger.

Mizzoo whispered to Wilfred, "We'd better get in as quick as possible."

The words were lost in the increasing roar of voices. He spoke again:

"When I swing open the door, that bunch will try to make a run for it.
You jump inside and I'll be after you like a shot.... We'll lock
ourselves in--"

"Hey, Mizzoo!" shouted a voice from the crowd, "bring out that old
cuss. Drag him to the platform, we want to hear what he's got to say.

"Say, Mr. Sheriff! Tell him if he won't come to us, we'll go to him.
We've got to know where Brick Willock's hiding, and that's all about
it."

"Sure!" growled a third. "What kind of a town is this, anyw