They were taking longer than he had expected, and every moment
was a gain.
Doty Buxton came in from the hall, where he had gone to watch operations.
"The do' is givin'," he said; "what'll you do?"
"Nothin'," the sheriff answered, slowly.
"Won't you give 'em the keys?"
"I haven't got 'em."
"Gosh!" and Doty's eyes got big as saucers.
Very soon the outer door was down, and the crowd came trooping in, all save
John Morris, who stopped in the hallway. He seemed to be unable even to
look at the sheriff, and the sheriff felt the averted face more than he
would have felt a blow. "We want the keys," Mitchell said.
The sheriff, who had risen, stood with his hands in his pockets, and his
eyes, filled with sympathy, fastened on Mr. Morris, standing looking
blankly down the empty hall.
"I haven't got the keys, Mr. Mitchell," he answered.
"Oh, come off!" cried one of the townsmen. "Rocky!" cried another. "Yo'
granny's hat!" came from a third; while Doty Buxton said, gravely, "Give
up, Partin; we've humored this duty business long enough."
"Do I understand you to say that you won't give up the keys?" Mitchell
demanded, scornfully.
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