“Well, what do you mean to do?” asked the sheriff with apparent calmness.

“To get away, of course,” said the prisoner, in a tone which caused the sheriff to look at him more closely, and with an involuntary feeling of apprehension; if the man was not mad, he was in a state of mind akin to madness, and quite as dangerous.  The sheriff felt that he must speak the prisoner fair, and watch for a chance to turn the tables on him.  The keen-eyed, desperate man before him was a different being altogether from the groveling wretch who had begged so piteously for life a few minutes before.

At length the sheriff spoke:——­

“Is this your gratitude to me for saving your life at the risk of my own?  If I had not done so, you would now be swinging from the limb of some neighboring tree.”

“True,” said the prisoner, “you saved my life, but for how long?  When you came in, you said Court would sit next week.  When the crowd went away they said I had not long to live.  It is merely a choice of two ropes.”

“While there ’s life there ’s hope,” replied the sheriff.  He uttered this commonplace mechanically, while his brain was busy in trying to think out some way of escape.  “If you are innocent you can prove it.”

The mulatto kept his eye upon the sheriff.  “I did n’t kill the old man,” he replied; “but I shall never be able to clear myself.  I was at his house at nine o’clock.  I stole from it the coat that was on my back when I was taken.  I would be convicted, even with a fair trial, unless the real murderer were discovered beforehand.”

The sheriff knew this only too well.  While he was thinking what argument next to use, the prisoner continued:——­

“Throw me the keys—­no, unlock the door.”

The sheriff stood a moment irresolute.  The mulatto’s eye glittered ominously.  The sheriff crossed the room and unlocked the door leading into the passage.

“Now go down and unlock the outside door.”

The heart of the sheriff leaped within him.  Perhaps he might make a dash for liberty, and gain the outside.  He descended the narrow stairs, the prisoner keeping close behind him.

The sheriff inserted the huge iron key into the lock.  The rusty bolt yielded slowly.  It still remained for him to pull the door open.

“Stop!” thundered the mulatto, who seemed to divine the sheriff’s purpose.  “Move a muscle, and I ’ll blow your brains out.”

The sheriff obeyed; he realized that his chance had not yet come.

“Now keep on that side of the passage, and go back upstairs.”