Then Madelon turned to him, and grasped at the keys in his hands, as
if she would wrest them from him. "Unlock the door and let me in, and
let Burr Gordon out!" she demanded, wildly.

The jailer wrested his keys away with a contemptuous jerk, and took
the skin from Madelon's hands with them. "You're crazy," he said.

"I am not crazy! You've got an innocent man locked up in there, and
I, who am guilty and tell you so, you will not arrest. It is you who
are crazy. Let me in!"

Alvin Mead laid a rough hand on Madelon's shoulder. "Now you look at
here, gal," said he. "I've had about all this darned nonsense I'm
a-goin' to stan'. That chap is in jail for murder, an' in jail he's
a-goin' to stay till I git orders from somebody besides you to let
him out. An' what's more, don't you come here on no sich tom-fool
arrant agin. If you do you won't git in. I ain't no objection to gals
he was goin' to marry ef he hadn't broke the laws comin' to see him a
leetle spell, if they'll go away peaceable when they're bid, but as
for havin' sech highstericky work as this, I'll be darned if I will.
Now I can't stan' here foolin' no longer; you'd better be gittin'
right along home, an' don't you break this other gal's neck with that
old stepper you've got out there."

Madelon Hautville said not another word. She went out of the jail
quickly, and she and Dorothy were soon in the sleigh and flying down
the road. The old racer was not so old nor so weary that the impetus
of the homeward stretch failed to stir him--for a mile or so, at
least. After that his pace slackened, and then Madelon turned to the
other girl, who looked up at her with a kind of piteous defiance.