oats--three children, all crying.

As they saw the men they became dumb, and stood mute and frightened,
staring at their parents.

They were not pretty--they were not even interesting. Mother and
children were alike--unwashed, uncombed, shoeless, and clothed in dirty,
faded calico. The children were all girls--the oldest not more than ten
years old, and the youngest scarce five. None of them pleaded for the
prisoner, but still the woman wailed and moaned, and the children stood
staring in dumb piteousness.

The major stood quietly gazing at the face of his watch. There was not
in Southern California a more honest man than Major Burkess; yet the
minute-hand of his watch had not indicated more than one-half of fifteen
minutes, when he exclaimed:

"Time's up!"

The men approached the prisoner--the woman threw her arms around him,
and cried:

"My husband! Oh, God!"

"Madam," said the major, "your husband's life is in his own hands. He
can save himself by giving the names of his confederates and leaving the
State."

"I'll tell you who they are?" cried the woman.

"God curse yer if yer do!" hissed Bowney from between his teeth.

"Better let him be, madam," argued Caney, of Texas. He'd better die like
a man than go back on his friends. Might tell us which of 'em was man
enough to fetch you and the young uns here? We'll try to be easy on him
when we ketch him."

"None of 'em," sobbed the woman. "We walked, an' I took turns totin' the
young uns. My husband! Oh, God! my husband!"

"Beg yer pardon, ma'am," said Bowney's captor, "but nobody can't b'leeve
that; it's nigh onto twenty mile."

"I'd ha' done it ef it had been fifty," cried the woman, angrily, "when
_he_ wuz in trouble. Oh, God! Oh, God! Don't yer b'leeve it? Then look
here!" She picked up the smallest child as she spoke, and in the dim
light the men saw that its little feet were torn and bleeding. "'Twas
their blood or his'n," cried the woman, rapidly, "an' I didn't know how
to choose between 'em. God hev mercy on me! I'm nigh crazy!"

Caney, of Texas, took the child from its mother and carried it to where
the moonlight was unobstructed. He looked carefully at its feet, and
then shouted:

"Bring the prisoner out here."

Two men carried Bowney to where Caney was standing, and the whole party,
with the woman and remaining children, followed.

"Bill," said Caney, "_I_ ain't a askin' yer to go back on yer friends,
but _them_ is--look at 'em."

And C