The hound did not yelp or whine when the
blow fell. He shut his eyes twice, and slunk sullenly back to his place.
The shanties might have received a volley or two from some of the mounted
bands, exasperated by futile searching, had not the escape of Homer's
prisoners made the guilt of the Cross-Roads appear doubtful in the minds
of many. As the morning waned, the advocates of the theory that the
gamblers had made away with Harkless grew in number. There came a telegram
from the Rouen chief of police that he had a clew to their whereabouts; he
thought they had succeeded in reaching Rouen, and it began to be generally
believed that they had escaped by the one-o'clock freight, which had
stopped to take on some empty cars at a side-track a mile northwest of the
town, across the fields from the Briscoe house. Toward noon a party went
out to examine the railroad embankment.
Men began to come back into the village for breakfast by twos and threes,
though many kept on searching the woods, not feeling the need of food, or
caring if they did. Every grove and clump of underbrush, every thicket,
was ransacked; the waters of the creek, shallow for the most part, but
swollen overnight, were dragged at every pool. Nothing was found; there
was not a sign.
The bar of the hotel was thronged all morning as the returning citizens
rapidly made their way thither, and those who had breakfasted and were
going out again paused for internal, as well as external, reinforcement.
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