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Suddenly, at Jamieson Gardens, Jane Elizabeth Barclay.

If that accursed tramp had been within reach I would have killed him indeed then! He lived—and my mother was dead—no need to ask how—of a broken heart at my non-appearance, at my disappearance. I stood up, so Scotty told me afterwards, and raising my fist to heaven cried: "Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!"

But at the time Scotty was eager on something else and he only shouted: "Shut up! Damn it!"

I sat down it seems. The instrument ceased to click its long message. He turned to me and said:

"Say! Say! What do you think? The passenger has been held up at Antelope Spring."

"Oh!" I said and sat with gulping breaths.

"Held up!" he shouted. "Who by, do you think? By the Apache Kid! What do you think of that? They're going right through to Lone Tree—non-stop to get next to the Sheriff there."

"Eh? Oh—that's very interesting," I said.

"My God!" he cried. "You—you're bug-house!" And he fled out to pour his news into some more sane ears.

I heard anon a whistle scream outside—heard the roar of a train coming into Black Kettle—heard it pass on, without cessation. The room hummed with its passage and clatter—and then a whistle beyond Black Kettle pealed out—another further off—and silence fell again.