s he, stumbled
helplessly over the moss and the thick dank myrtle and among the round
graves that gave him a treacherous footing; and then he heard Betty's
agonized cry. He had fallen now, and his strength went from him, but he
kept his face turned on the group before the church in mute appeal, and
even as the shadows deepened he was aware that Betty was coming swiftly
toward him.

"I'm shot--" he said, speaking with difficulty.

"Charley--Charley--" she moaned, slipping her strong young arms about
him and gathering him to her breast.

He looked up into her face.

"It's all over--" he said, but as much in wonder as in fear. "But I knew
you would come to me--dear--" he added in a whisper. She felt a shudder
pass through him. He did not speak again. His lips opened once, and
closed on silence.

CHAPTER XXIII. THE JUDGE OFFERS A REWARD

The news of Charley Norton's murder spread quickly over the county. For
two or three days bands of armed men scoured the woods and roads, and
then this activity quite unproductive of any tangible results ceased,
matters were allowed to rest with the constituted authorities, namely
Mr. Betts the sheriff, and his deputies.

No private citizen had shown greater zeal than Judge Slocum Price, no
voice had clamored more eloquently for speedy justice than his. He had
sustained a loss that was in a peculiar sense personal, he explained.
Mr. Norton was his friend and client; they had much in common; their
political ideals were in the strictest accord and he had entertained a
most favorable opinion of the young man's abilities; he had urged him
to enter the national arena and carve out a career for himself; he had
promised him his support. The judge so worked upon his own feelings that
presently any mention of Norton's name utterly unmanned him. Well, this
was life. One could only claim time as it was doled out by clock ticks;
we planned for the years and could not be certain of the moments.

He spent two entire days at the church and in the surrounding woods, nor
did any one describe the murder with the vividness he achieved in his
description of it. The minister's narrative was pale and colorless by
comparison, and those who came from a distance went away convinced
that they had talked with an eyewitness to the tragedy and esteemed
themselves fortunate. In short, he imposed himself on the situation with
such brilliancy that in the end his account of the murder became
the accepted