“No,” said the counterfeiter, “but—­but it runs in the family to shoot ugly.”

Again the sheriff kissed the man repeatedly.

“Then you can move in two or three days,” said Jim, “if you’re taken care of rightly.  Nobody’ll suspect anything wrong about the sheriff, ef he don’t turn up again right away.  I’ll go back to town, throw everybody off the track, and bring out a few things to make you comfortable.”

Jim looked at the sheriff again, blushed again, and started for the door.  The wounded man sprang to his feet, and hoarsely whispered: 

“Swear—­ask God to send you to hell if you play false—­swear by everything you love and respect and hope for, that you won’t let my daughter be disgraced because she happened to have a rascal for her father!”

Jim hesitated for a moment; then he seized the sheriff’s hand.

“I ain’t used to swearin’ except on somethin’ I can see,” said he, “an’ the bizness is only done in one way,” with this he kissed the little hand in his own, and dashed out of the cabin with a very red face.

Within ten minutes Jim met his brother and Braymer.

“No use, boys,” said he, “might as well go back, There ain’t no fears but what the sheriff’ll be smart enough to do ’em yet, if he’s alive, an’ if he’s dead we can’t help him any.”

“If he’s dead,” remarked Bill Braymer, “an’ there’s any pay due him, I hope part of it’ll come for these horses.  Mine’s dead, an’ Pete’s might as well be.”

“Well,” said Jim, “I’ll go on to town.  I want to be out early in the mornin’ an’ see ef I can’t get a deer, an’ it’s time I was in bed.”  And Jim galloped off.

The horse and man which might have been seen threading the woods at early daybreak on the following morning, might have set for a picture of one of Sherman’s bummers.  For a month afterward Jim’s mother bemoaned the unaccountable absence of a tin pail, a meal-bag, two or three blankets, her only pair of scissors, and sundry other useful articles, while her sorrow was increased by the fact that she had to replenish her household stores sooner than she had expected.

The sheriff examined so eagerly the articles which Jim deposited in rapid succession on the cabin-floor, that Jim had nothing to do but look at the sheriff, which he did industriously, though not exactly to his heart’s content.  At last the sheriff looked up, and Jim saw two eyes full of tears, and a pair of lips which parted and trembled in a manner very unbecoming in a sheriff.

“Don’t, please,” said Jim, appealingly.  “I wish I could have done better for you, but somehow I couldn’t think of nothin’ in the house that was fit for a woman, except the scissors.”

“Don’t think about me at all,” said the sheriff, quickly.

“I care for nothing for myself.  Forget that I’m alive.”

“I—­I can’t,” stammered Jim, looking as guilty as forty counterfeiters rolled into one.  The sheriff turned away quickly, while the father called Jim to his side.