The door had scarcely closed, when, dropping his cool and calm demeanor, Wittrock sprang from his chair and confronting Haight with flaming eyes, he whispered in terrible tones: 

“Moriarity turned informer, he swore away our liberty, and all our work has been turned to naught by the cowardly traitor.  Listen to me, Haight, listen well, and when you see the poltroon tell him that Jim Cummings swore he would cut his heart out.  Aye! I will do it, though he were guarded behind double bars.  I’ll search him out and tear the traitor heart from his breast and make him eat it, by God—­make him eat it.”

A gurgling sound and hissing gasps recalled the furious man to his senses, and he saw that in his frenzy of anger he had clutched his companion by the throat and was choking him purple in the face.

A few gasps, and Haight had recovered his breath, rubbing his throat ruefully, and edging away from his dangerous and excited companion.

His passionate outburst over Wittrock regained his composure, and lighting a cigar, gave one to Haight, remarking in a light tone: 

“I beg your pardon, old man, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Next time don’t take me for Moriarity,” puffing the peace-offering.

“Do you know whom I would like to see?  Those two chaps that arrested me.”

As if in answer to his call the door opened, and Sam, with Chip following, entered.

Wittrock recognized them, and with a hearty “Good-morning, gentlemen,” motioned them to a seat, with as little ceremony as if the room was in his own house.

“Good-morning, Jim,” said Chip, “I’m sorry we had to pull you in last night.”

“It was a ground-hog case, eh?”

“You don’t seem to recognize us,” said Sam.

“Yes, I do; you gave me enough cause last night to remember you all my life.”

“Suah enough, Massa Cummins,” broke in Chip, imitating Scip’s voice.

Wittrock gazed at the speaker, and in astonishment, cried: 

“Scip!”

“Suah as you bawn, honey, I’s de same ole Scip.”

“And you?” turning to Sam.

“Doctor Skinner, at your service,”

“Then you’re the two I have to thank for my being here.”

“We helped the thing a little.”

As they were talking, Weaver returned with the detective, bringing several packages of money, still in the original wrappers, which Wittrock had taken from the safe of the express car.

The sight of the recovered plunder placed a quietus on the arrested men, who now saw that the last link in the chain had been forged, and felt the walls of the penitentiary looming up before them.

Settling into a stubborn silence, they sullenly refused to utter another word, and maintained this position until they were placed on the train for St. Louis, where they were locked up to answer the indictments which the grand jury had already found against them.