But
Morris shook his head.
"Let's talk business, Judge More," he said, "and let's get Partin into a
chair where he can rest; I've just knocked him over."
Then Morris left the room, and Mitchell with him, going to the far side of
the jail-yard, where they walked up and down in silence. It was not long
before Judge More and the sheriff joined them.
"The evidence was too slight for lynching," the judge said, looking
straight into John Morris's eyes.
"Great God!" Morris cried, and struck his hands together.
"What more do you want?" Mitchell demanded, angrily. "His wife has
disappeared, and the negro ran away."
"True, and I'll see to the case myself; but I'm glad that you did not hang
the negro."
A boy came up with a telegram.
"From Jim, I reckon," the sheriff said, taking it. "No; it's for you, Mr.
Morris."
It was torn open hastily; then Morris looked from one to the other with a
blank, scared face, while the paper fluttered from his hold.
Mitchell caught it, and read aloud slowly, as if he did not believe his
eyes:
"'Am safe. Will be out on the ten o'clock train. ELEANOR.
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