St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1884-08-17

Peterson made no reply.
Peterson" Fogle assumed the persua
sive style
''That's me What dye waut?''
''You don't want to lie in place like this
fifteen or twenty years, do you!"
Don't expect to lay here that long" an
swered Peterson.
'You'll make the rifle if you're 'Chappar-
raj George, sure.'
MAYBE; but reckon ken prove my re-
cord purity clear.n
''It's two-to-one bet that You won't dc
anything Of the kind. In the first place. no
body here ever saw 'Chapparral George, and
you answer the description exactly. Besides,
there are parties here who have an interest
in sending you to state prison"
'Who wants me sent to states prison 81
he asked. ''If that's the case, | reckon I'm
in bad box, amt I.''
''Not so bad but what it will be easy fol
! me to save you, - was the reply of the lawyer:
provided you will be guided by me through
out. Is it bargainl"
81 reckon it'll hev to be.'
"AlI right, then; and now my fee. How
much money you got!'
''Forty dollars.' IF
'All right Now you're my client; and
the moment you refuse to be guided by my
advice, throw up the case. Do you under
standY'
81 understand"
Fogle then left the jail, and was i'm
mediately engaged, heart and soul, in ar
ranging mysterious combination. which he
intended should result in the liberation OF
his client. After time, he was discharged,
a freeman again.
Peterson, after his discharge, wandered
about town in an aimless sort of way, striv-
ing, without knowing how, to break the web
that was being woven around him. While
standing in the shadow of deserted build
ing, he was approached by suspicious look
ing man, roughly dressed, and apparently
anxious to escape observation. The man
walked by him, and then suddenly turned,
and, in hurried whisper, informed him that
he was friend, that movement was on
foot in the town to rearrest him as "Chap-
aral George" and hang him. He had been
sent by Lawyer Fogle, he said, to warn him,
and if he would hurry to the dead pine, on
the Bridgeport trail, he would find mus
tang tethered there, which he must mount
and cross the mountains as rapidly as the
animal could carry him. Peterson listened
like man in dream, and then, without a
word in reply, took the Bridgeport trail, and
finding horse, mounted it, and rode into
the hills.
Two days after, as evening was falling,
Peterson, traYel-stained and weary rode in
to Montezuma, passed through the town, and
up the narrow pathway to the deserted cabin
in which he had once lived. single glance
revealed the condition of the hut, but it did
not change Peterson's purpose of alightine
and entering. He stood there for time
memories of the past rising before him like
the grim spectres of his dead hopes. The
clatter of hoofs, outside aroused him, and q
voice exclaiming, "That's the horse, Buck, u
drew him to the door. Two men were dis
mounting, and while one of them secured
Peterson's horse, the other drew a six-shooteI
and leveled it at him.
''Throw up your hands, George; if yor
move I'll let daylight through you.' There
was no gainsaying the command Peterson
obeyed.
"Where'd you get that broncho?" asked
the man with the pistol, advancing to.
ward the door
'In Mammoth City. I s'pose YOU'RE the
owner, amt ye?'' answered Peterson
''Not exactly, but it's stolen property; Pm
deputy sheriff, and arrest you'
On the way down the trail the deputy
sheriff attempted to "pump' his prisoner,
but Peterson replied only In monosyllabes,
fully confirming the officer that he had made
an important capture-the notorious ''Chap-
arral George''-the desperate of the Sierra.
Meantime the news spread far and wide,
that 'Chaparral George had been captured,
and an excited crowd gathered in front OF
the post office, discussing the chances of his
swinging at an early date.
''Swing!n exclaimed tall, bearded pros
pector. 'The rope amt twisted that'l
swing George. Why, boys, he's as slipper,
as a Greaser horsc-thief, and derned sight
luckier. Hang No, sir. He saws his
here several years ago"
81 knew Roger Peterson when he lived
here, " remarked one of the crowd; s'he
went away during the Frazer River excite
ment and left wife behind him -
''Well, that amt the question: said the
tall man facing the crowd; "the real cues.
ton is whether such slippery customer as
'Chaparral George is to be let loose on the
community again. If he's left to the law he
will escape as sure as you're all standing
there, and if robbers and murderers are tc
be let go free, on one pretense and another.
l think it's about time for honest men tc
emigrate Amt | rightl'
The crowd gathered closer about the
speaker.
"Taiu t the way it used to be- In the
early days there wasn't so much law, aud a
blamed sight more justice. II this town had
any sand, or wanted to see justice done
'Chaparal George wouldn' last through tn,
night"
And how dye know we hewitt tn,
sandin
Il don't say so-direct But the GROVE
that hangs back don'thang men,
For an instant there was deathlike still
ness in that crowd, and every man looked a
his neighbor. The decision as expressed b,
those side glauees sealed the doom of thu
man who was charged with the crimes Of
''Chaparral George, as if the hangman'
rope was already around his neck.
The Jail where Peterson was confined wa:
formerly used as warehouse The maip
entrance in front was strongly secured. tbs
iron doors being dovble locked and cross
barred, but presenting the easiest means Of
admission to an asssultiug party. 1t was tc
this door that a crowd OF about fifty masked
men came at midnight of the Clav on which
Peterson was arrested, and that unfortunate
man was aroused from slumber by the heavy
knocking of the leader of the mob.
Gwen give you three minutes to pass out
that key and unbar the door, cried the lead.
er.
\ silence that weighed like lead on the
heart OF the haplcss prisoner. was broken
presently by horribly oiniuous crash. An
instant's interval, and then another. fol-
lowed immediately BY still another. Ii was
4 sixteen pound sledge beating Femorseless-
" upon the lock of the Jail door. The steady
Changing of the sledge echoed through the
bailding and came to the ears of Peterson
like death-kuel, filling his soul at first with
nameless horror Then, as he lay there.
listening to the regular beating of that met