t and then at
Shrimplin.

"Is anything the matter?" he asked.

It was Watt Harbison.

"Young Mr. Langham has fell off the high iron bridge," said the little
lamplighter, with a dignity that more than covered his lapse from
grammar.

"Why--are you badly hurt, Marsh?" cried Watt going close to the cart.

"I don't know, I'm in most infernal pain," said Langham slowly.

"Do you think we can lift him?" asked Shrimplin. "The judge don't seem
to be at home."

"Your boy would better go to my uncle's; Judge Langham may be there,"
said Watt.

And Custer promptly slid out of the cart and sped off up the street.

Langham met the delay with grim patience. A strange indifference had
taken the place of fear, nothing seemed of much moment any more.
Presently in his stupor he heard the sound of quick steps, then Colonel
Harbison's voice, and a moment later he was aware that the three men had
lifted him from the cart and were carrying him along the path toward
the house. They entered the hall.

"Take me up-stairs," he said, and without pause his bearers moved
forward.

They saw now that his face was pinched and ghastly under the smear of
blood that was oozing from an ugly cut on his cheek, and Watt and the
colonel exchanged significant glances. When they reached the head of the
stairs Custer pushed open the first door; the room thus disclosed was in
darkness, and the colonel, with a whispered caution to his companions,
released his hold on Langham, and striking a match, stepped into the
room where, having found the chandelier, he turned on the gas. As the
light flared up, Shrimplin and Watt advanced with their helpless burden.
It was the judge's chamber they had entered and it was not untenanted,
for there on the bed lay the judge himself.

It was Langham who first saw that recumbent figure. A hoarse
inarticulate groan escaped him. He twisted clear of the hands that
supported him and by a superhuman effort staggered to his feet, he even
took an uncertain step in the direction of the bed, his starting eyes
fixed on the spare figure. Then his strength deserted him and with a cry
that rose to a shriek, he pitched forward on his face.

The colonel strode past the fallen man to the bedside, where for an
instant he stood looking down on a placid face and into open eyes. As
his glance wandered he saw that the judge's nerveless fingers still
grasped the butt of a revolver.

White-faced he turned away. "Is he dead, Colonel?" as