m committing a great
crime!" exclaimed Crewne, with a reproving look. "Mr. Matalette took me
in last night, wet, cold, and footsore; this morning I departed,
refreshed, clothed and mounted. To rob a man who is so lavish of--"

"Beg your pardon, parson," interrupted one of the men, "but you haven't
got the right pig by the ear. We're not highwaymen. I'm the sheriff of
this county, and Jim's a constable. And as for Matalette, he's a
counterfeiter, and we're after him."

Crewne dropped his bridle-rein, and his lower jaw, as he exclaimed:

"Impossible!"

"'Tis, eh?" said the sheriff. "Well, we've examined several lots of
money he's paid out lately, and there isn't a good bill among 'em."

Crewne mechanically put his hands in his pocket and drew forth the money
Matalette had given him to buy a horse with. The sheriff snatched it.

"That's some of his stock?" said he, looking it rapidly over. _That_
seems good enough."

"What will become of his poor daughter?" ejaculated the young preacher,
with a vacant look.

"What, Helen?" queried the sheriff. "She's the best engraver of
counterfeits there is in the whole West."

"Dreadful--dreadful!" exclaimed the young preacher, putting his hand
over his eyes.

"Fact," replied the sheriff. "You parsons have got a big job to do 'fore
this world's in the right shape, an' sheriffs and constables ain't
needed. Wish you good luck at it, though 'twill be bad for trade. You'll
keep mum 'bout this case, of course. We'll catch 'em in the act finally;
then there won't be any danger about not getting a conviction, an' our
reward, that's offered by the banks."

The sheriff and his assistant galloped on to the village they had been
approaching when they overtook Crewne; but the young minister did not
accompany them, although the village toward which they rode was the one
in which he was to preach that morning.

Perhaps he needed more time and quietness in which to compose his
sermon. If this supposition is correct, it may account for the fact that
the members of the Mount Pisgah congregation pronounced his sermon that
day, from the text, "All is vanity," one of his most powerful efforts.

In fact, old Mrs. Reets, who had for time immemorial entertained the
probable angels who appeared at Mount Pisgah in ministerial guise,
remarked that "preacher seemed all tuckered out by that talk; tuk his
critter, an' left town 'fore the puddin' was done."

That same evening, the sheriff and his de