CHAPTER XIV.
Mr.Johnson was rudely wakened from his slumbers by a violent hand upon his shoulder.

Opening his eyes, he smiled up into the scowling face of Undersheriff Barton.
"Good-morning, sheriff," he said, and sat up, yawning.
The sun was shining brightly.

Mr.Johnson reached for his trousers and yawned again.
The scandalized sheriff was unable to reply.

He had been summoned by passers-by, who, hearing the turbulent clamor for breakfast made by the neglected prisoners, had hastened to give the alarm.

He had found the jailer tightly bound, almost choked by his gag, suffering so cruelly from cramps that he could not get up when released, and barely able to utter the word "Johnson." Acting on that hint, Barton had rushed up-stairs, ignoring the shouts of his mutinous prisoners as he went through the second-floor corridor, to find on the third floor an opened cell, with a bunch of keys hanging in the door, the rope and saw upon the table, Mr.Johnson's neatly folded clothing on the chair, and Mr.Johnson peacefully asleep.