"My relative believes that Mr. Harkless is still alive," said Meredith.
Mr. Barrett permitted himself an indulgent smile. He had the air of having
long ago discovered everything which anybody might wish to know, and of
knowing a great deal which he held in reserve because it was necessary to
suppress many facts for a purpose far beyond his auditor's comprehension,
though a very simple matter to himself.
"Well, hardly, I expect," he replied, easily. "No; he's hardly alive."
"Oh, don't say that," said Meredith.
"I'm afraid Mr. Barrett has to say it," broke in Warren Smith. "We're up
here to see this fellow before he dies, to try and get him to tell what
disposal they made of the----"
"Ah!" Meredith shivered. "I believe I'd rather he said the other than to
hear you say that."
Mr. Horner felt the need of defending a fellow-townsman, and came to the
rescue, flushing painfully. "It's mighty bad, I know," said the sheriff of
Carlow, the shadows of his honest, rough face falling in a solemn pattern;
"I reckon we hate to say it as much as you hate to hear it; and Warren
really didn't get the word out. It's stuck in our throats all day; and I
don't recollect as I heard a single man say it before I left our city this
morning. Our folks thought a great deal of him, Mr. Meredith; I don't
believe there's any thinks more. But it's come to that now; you can't
hardly see no chance left. We be'n sweating this other man, Slattery, but
we can't break him down. Jest tells us to go to"--the sheriff paused,
evidently deterred by the thought that swear-words were unbefitting a
hospital--"to the other place, and shets his jaw up tight. The one up here
is called the Teller, as Mr. Barrett says; his name's Jerry the Teller.
Well, we told Slattery that Jerry had died and left a confession; tried to
make him think there wasn't no hope fer him, and he might as well up and
tell his share; might git off easier; warned him to look out for a mob if
he didn't, maybe, and so on, but it never bothered him at all. He's nervy,
all right. Told us to go--that is, he said it again--and swore the Teller
was on his way to Chicago, swore he seen him git on the train. Wouldn't
say another word tell he got a lawyer. So, 'soon as it was any use, we
come up here--they reckon he'll come to before he dies. We'll be glad to
have you go in with us," Horner said kindly. "I reckon it's all the same
to Mr. Barrett."
"He will die, will he, Gay?" Meredith asked, turning to the surgeon.