EVERY delicacy which love could devise and her money buy Stella lavished on John and his friends. Each day added to the list of men who returned to jail condemned to the infamy of a convict’s pen at Albany.

When the deep-muttered curses against Steve Hoyle for the betrayal of his men reached John’s ears, he sent through Stella his sternest orders and his tenderest entreaties to Dan Wiley to prevent violence. Dan had successfully eluded every effort to arrest him. John knew that he was hiding in the mountains with the men he had commanded armed to the teeth, and he lived in constant dread of the news of Steve’s assassination, even under the noses of the United States troops.

A single burst of sunlight came to brighten for Stella the gloom of the day before John’s departure for Albany. She succeeded in liberating “Jim,” the big brother of her little tow-headed friend. Her interest in the boy had been noted, and she received the usual mysterious message—that money placed at the right spot would prevent any witness from identifying Jim. She found the right spot promptly and paid the bribe of two hundred and fifty dollars without a question as to the ethics involved. Jim was discharged, and when he walked out a free man a little tow-headed boy lay sobbing out his joy on her breast.

“I’m goin’ to work for you, if you’ll let me,” he cried through his tears.

“Why, I thought you said you couldn’t do anything that day we met?” she laughed.

“Oh, I’m awful smart,” he boasted—“I can tote fresh water, carry all your notes to your sweetheart—and I’m great diggin’ worms ter go fishin’—I know right where to find ’em!”

She sent him away with a kiss and a promise to let him come and show her what he could do.

As she entered the jail with John’s dinner, the jailor, whose friendship she had won by the liberal use of money and skilful flattery, whispered to her:

“Come in here a minute, Miss, I want to show you something.”

She followed him into his room and started with horror at the sight of a dirty suit of convict’s stripes spread out on a chair.

Stella’s face blanched.

“They are for him?” she gasped.

“Yessum, an’ if ye’ll excuse me fer sayin’ it, I think it’s a d——— shame.”

“They have no right to put this outrage on him before his people,” she cried.

“No’m, they haint got no right, but they’re goin’ ter do it to-morrow mornin’ just the same. They’re goin’ ter take him all the way ter Albany in that suit.”

“Who’s doing this?” she asked with rising wrath.

“Steve Hoyle, m’am. He’s fixin’ to have a big gang er niggers and low white trash here in the mornin’ ter hoot and yell and make fun of him all the way to the train, an’ I thought I’d tell ye.”

“Thank you,” she answered warmly, her big brown eyes beginning to flash fire.

“Ye know ef I’d step out, that suit o’ clothes might be foun’ missin’. It ain’t mine. I’ll swear to that. I don’t know anybody that owns it, er wants it.”

“I understand. Wrap it up, please. I can’t touch it.”

Stella shuddered and watched the jailor with wide-staring eyes as he picked up the suit, wrapped it in a piece of brown paper and laid it back on the chair.

“I got to go—there’s somebody knockin’ at the door—course, I won’t know what’s become er the d—— thing.”

He left her with a grin, and Stella seized the bundle, hurried home and burned it. On the way she stopped at a hardware store and made a mysterious purchase which she carefully concealed, and there was a dangerous light in her eyes as she placed this package beside the travelling dress which she had laid out to wear on the train with John.
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