There succeeded another interval of waiting in which Shrimplin cocked his head on one side to catch the sound of possible footsteps in the hall.
"He says try the knob," called Custer from the cart.
Doing this, Shrimplin felt the door yield, it was not locked; at the same instant he made this discovery, however, he heard a footfall in the street and so, hurried back to the gate.

The new-comer halted when he was abreast of wild Bill, and stared first at the cart and then at Shrimplin.
"Is anything the matter ?" he asked.
It was Watt Harbison.
"Young Mr.Langham has fell off the high iron bridge," said the little lamplighter, with a dignity that more than covered his lapse from grammar.
"Why--are you badly hurt, Marsh ?" cried Watt going close to the cart.
"I don't know, I'm in most infernal pain," said Langham slowly.
"Do you think we can lift him ?" asked Shrimplin.

"The judge don't seem to be at home." "Your boy would better go to my uncle's; Judge Langham may be there," said Watt.
And Custer promptly slid out of the cart and sped off up the street.
Langham met the delay with grim patience.

A strange indifference had taken the place of fear, nothing seemed of much moment any more.
Presently in his stupor he heard the sound of quick steps, then Colonel Harbison's voice, and a moment later he was aware that the three men had lifted him from the cart and were carrying him along the path toward the house.

They entered the hall.
"Take me up-stairs," he said, and without pause his bearers moved forward.
They saw now that his face was pinched and ghastly under the smear of blood that was oozing from an ugly cut on his cheek, and Watt and the colonel exchanged significant glances.