At his departure William Todd looked up quickly; then he got upon his feet
and quietly followed the editor. In the dusk a tattered little figure rose
up from the weeds across the way, and stole noiselessly after William. He
was in his shirt-sleeves, his waistcoat unbuttoned and loose. On the
nearest corner Mr. Todd encountered a fellow-townsman, who had been pacing
up and down in front of a cottage, crooning to a protestive baby held in
his arms. He had paused in his vigil to stare after Harkless.
"Whereas he bound for, William?" inquired the man with the baby.
"Briscoes'," answered William, pursuing his way.
"I reckoned he would be," commented the other, turning to his wife, who
sat on the doorstep, "I reckoned so when I see that lady at the lecture
last night."
The woman rose to her feet. "Hi, Bill Todd!" she said. "What you got onto
the back of your vest?" William paused, put his hand behind him and
encountered a paper pinned to the dangling strap of his waistcoat. The
woman ran to him and unpinned the paper. It bore a writing. They took it
to where the yellow lamp-light shone through the open door, and read:
"der Sir
"FoLer harkls aL yo ples an gaRd him yoR
best venagesn is closteR, harkls not Got 3 das to liv
"We come in Wite."
"What ye think, William?" asked the man with the baby, anxiously. But the
woman gave the youth a sharp push with her hand. "They never dast to do
it!" she cried. "Never in the world! You hurry, Bill Todd. Don't you leave
him out of your sight one second."