" "I guess what share you've had in this," whispered Austin to Mrs. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. She immediately took the pillows from under the head of the man who had two names, released the collar and tie, and arranged the arms alongside the body. Don't be afraid.
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