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fulness by a succession of rifle shots. Then he found himself, still fully dressed, lying on his bed with his legs hanging off. He was chilled to the bone. The firing brought him up on his bed shivering and listening intently. Presently came more shots, one-two-three; Abner thrust his head out of the window and counted up to six. So it must have been a pistol. The firing was in the direction of the jail.

Abner listened intently for some other interpretative sound when a door opened in the bungalow and Beatrice's voice called, "Abner! Abner! Did you hear that shootin'?"

The teamster called back that he had heard it.

"Where did it come from, Abner? It's not Pappy, is it? Who is it shootin'?"

"No, 'tain't Jim, of course! He's in—he ain't got no gun." Abner continued staring in the direction of the jail when there came another spacing of six shots. A lgiht appeared in an adjoining house, and then came the sound of a window being raised. Abner saw a head thrust out and a voice called, "What air they shootin' about?" and another voice farther on replied, "I guess it's them bootleggers."

Then other more distant voices with only a phrase or two distinguishable, "From the jail" . . . "Bascom shootin'" . . . "Signallin' for he'p" . . .

The firing started again, hammering the darkness with the hard clipped impacts of smokeless powder.

Abner turned on his own light and hurried stiffly for his door. As he bolted into the passageway he saw Mrs. Sandage and Beatrice Belle starting for the stairs in kimonos.

"Abner!" cried the wife, putting her shaking fingers to her teeth, "didn't somebody say it was Jim? It's from the jail—run down there, Abner!"

"I know it ain't him, Miss Haly—what would Jim be doin' . . ." Abner was striding down the stairs three at a time. He turned out into the cold night, and slammed the door just as Mrs. Sandage from the interior switched on the porch light so he could get to the gate.