nd with all his
strength resisted her squirming efforts until Harry and Bardwell had
come to his assistance. It was Crazy Laura, the contents of her arms
now showing in the light of the flames as they licked every window of
the upper portion of the house,--five heavy, sheepskin-bound books of
the ledger type, wrapped tight in a grasp that not even Harry could
loosen.

"Don't take them from me!" the insane woman screamed. "He tried it,
didn't he? And where 's he now--up there burning! He hit me--and I
threw the lamp at him! He wanted my books--he wanted to take them away
from me--but I would n't let him. And you can't have them--hear
me--let go of my arm--let go!"

She bit at them. She twisted and butted them with her gray head. She
screamed and squirmed,--at last to weaken. Slowly Harry forced her
arms aside and took from them the precious contents,--whatever they
might be. Grimly old Sheriff Mason wrapped her in his coat and led her
to a horse, there to force her to mount and ride with him into town.
The house--with Squint Rodaine--was gone. Already the flame was
breaking through the roof in a dozen places. It would be ashes before
the antiquated fire department of the little town of Ohadi could reach
there.

Back in the office of Sheriff Bardwell the books--were opened, and
Fairchild uttered an exclamation.

"Harry! Did n't she talk about her books at the Coroner's inquest?"

"Yeh. That's them. Them 's her dairy."

"Diary," Anita corrected. "Everybody knows about that--she writes
everything down in there. And the funny part about it, they say, is
that when she's writing, her mind is straight and she knows what she's
done and tells about it. They 've tried her out."

Fairchild was leaning forward.

"See if there 's any entry along early in July--about the time of the
inquest."

Bardwell turned the closely written pages, with their items set forth
with a slight margin and a double line dividing them from the events
tabulated above. At last he stopped.

"Testified to-day at the inquest," he read. "I lied. Roady made me do
it. I never saw anybody quarreling. Besides, I did it myself."

"What's she mean--did it herself?" the sheriff looked up. "Guess we
'll have to go 'way back for that."

"First let's see how accurate the thing is," Fairchild interrupted.
"See if there 's an item under November 9 of this year."

The sheriff searched, then read:

"I dug a grave to-night. It was n