“Who? Who?” from twenty voices.

“Muff Potter!”

“Hallo, he’s stopped!⁠—Look out, he’s turning! Don’t let him get away!”

People in the branches of the trees over Tom’s head said he wasn’t trying to get away⁠—he only looked doubtful and perplexed.

“Infernal impudence!” said a bystander; “wanted to come and take a quiet look at his work, I reckon⁠—didn’t expect any company.”

The crowd fell apart, now, and the Sheriff came through, ostentatiously leading Potter by the arm. The poor fellow’s face was haggard, and his eyes showed the fear that was upon him. When he stood before the murdered man, he shook as with a palsy, and he put his face in his hands and burst into tears.

“I didn’t do it, friends,” he sobbed; “ ’pon my word and honor I never done it.”