"Poor Mrs.Willard and Harry Excell!" Yes, there was Harry; for a moment, for the first time, he was regarded with pity.

"What will he do?
He must take it very hard." At about eleven o'clock, just as the discussion had reached this secondary stage, where new particulars were necessary, a youth, pale and breathless, with his right hand convulsively clasping his bloody shoulder, rushed into the central drug store and fell to the floor with inarticulate cries of fear and pain.

Out of his mouth at last came an astonishing charge of murderous assault on the part of Harold Excell.
His wounds were dressed and the authorities notified to arrest his assailant.
When the officers found Harold he was pacing up and down the narrow alley where the encounter had taken place.

He was white as the dead, and his eyes were ablaze under his knitted brows.
"Well, what do you want of me ?" he demanded, as the officer rushed up and laid hands upon him.
"You've killed Clint Slocum," replied the constable, drawing a pair of handcuffs from his pocket.
"Oh, drop those things!" replied Harold; "I'm not going to run; you never knew me to run." Half ashamed, the constable replaced the irons in his pocket and seized his prisoner by the arm.

Harold walked along quietly, but his face was terrible to see, especially in one so young.