th him?" asked Ezekiel.

"Where's the nearest prison?

"At Crampton."

"How far away?"

"Twelve miles."

"In what direction?"

"It is four miles beyond Claremont," answered the farmer.

"Where you live?"

"Yes."

"Then we will go there first."

"But how shall we carry this gentleman?" asked the farmer, who could
not get over a feeling of deference for the celebrated outlaw.

[Illustration: "NOW TIE HIM, MASON, WHILE I KEEP HIM COVERED WITH THE
REVOLVER."]

"We'll put him into the back part of the buggy."

By the united efforts of both, the outlaw, like a trussed fowl, was
deposited bodily in the rear of the carriage, where he lay in a most
uncomfortable position, jolted and shaken whenever the road was rough
or uneven. It was a humiliating position, and he felt it.

"You'll repent this outrage," he said fiercely.

"Doesn't thee like it?" asked Luke, relapsing into his Quaker dialect.

"Curse you and your Quaker lingo!" retorted Fox, his black eyes
sparkling vindictively.

"It wouldn't do thee any harm to turn Quaker thyself," suggested Luke.

"I'll be bruised to death before the ride is over," growled the
outlaw.

"There is one way of saving you the discomfort of the ride."

"What is that?"

"I might shoot you through the head. As the reward is the same whether
I deliver you alive or dead, I have almost determined to do it."

The outlaw was made still more uncomfortable by these words. He had
wholly misunderstood Luke at first, and the revelation of his real
character had impressed him not only with respect, but with fear. He
did not know of what this pseudo Quaker might be capable. He longed in
some way to get out of his power. Force was impracticable, and he
resolved to resort to finesse.

"Look here, my friend," he began.

"So you regard me as a friend? Thank you, brother Fox; I won't forget
it."

"Oh, bother your nonsense! I suppose you are after the thousand
dollars offered for my apprehension."

"You have guessed right the first time. I am not a rich man, and I
don't mind telling you that a thousand dollars will be particularly
acceptable just about now."

"So I supposed. You don't feel particularly unfriendly to me?"

"Oh, no. I might under different circumstances come to love you like a
brother."

"Or join my band?"

"Well, no; I draw the line there. As a Quaker I could not consistently
join a band of robbers."

"Who are you?" asked Fox abruptly. "You weren't raised ar