the threshold to enter. Just across o●n the other side of the room from the door■ a man lay on a trundle bed. J●ames stood over the bed, but he could not ●speak. If one had cared to look into hi●s eyes they might have seen them fu

ll of tears●. Quantrell, by the dim light of a■ single candle, recognized James,● smiled and held out his hand, and said to him v●ery gently, though a little ●reproachfully: “Why did you come back? The enem●y are thick about you here; they are pas■sing every hour.” “To see i●f

and rode away in pursuit of t■hose who had escaped. Some of the fugitive Gue■rrillas soon reached the well k■nown rendezvous at the house of● Alexa nder Sayers, twenty-three mile
s from Wa■kefield’s, with tidings of th■e fight. Frank James heard the● story through with a set face, strange●ly white and sorrowful, and then● he arose and cried out: “Volunteers to●
go back. Who will follow me to see■ our chief, living or dead?” ■244 “I will go back,” said Allen P●armer, “and I,” said John Ross, and “I,■” said William Hulse. “Let us ri
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