"My God, I didn't mean to do that!" he muttered.
He had gained the railroad tracks and was running toward the bridge, the very seconds seemed of infinite value to him, for suppose he should have difficulty in finding Moxlow?
And if he found the prosecuting attorney, would he believe his story?
A shudder passed through him.

He was quite near the bridge when suddenly he paused and a whispered curse slipped from between his parted lips.

A man was standing at the entrance to the bridge and though it was impossible to distinguish more than the shadowy outline of his figure, Montgomery was certain that it was Marshall Langham.

His first impulse was to turn back and go into town by the wagon road and the wooden bridge, but as he hesitated the figure came toward him, and Langham spoke.
"Is that you, Joe ?" he asked.
"Damn him, he knows I won't stand for hangin' North!" the handy-man told himself under his breath.

He added aloud as he shuffled forward, "Yes, it's me, boss!" "Couldn't you make it right with Nellie ?" asked Langham.
"Oh, it isn't that--the old woman's all right--but the baby's sick and I'm out huntin' a doctor." He did not expect Langham to believe him, but on the spur of the moment he could think of nothing better.
"I am sorry to hear that!" said Langham.
An evil wolfish light stole into his eyes and the lines of his weak debauched face hardened.
"What's the matter with you, boss; couldn't you get across ?" asked Joe.
"No, the bridge is too much for me.