Then
commenced a struggle for life or death. The street was a lonely one; the
time past midnight. No one was abroad; not a creature was to be seen.
Walls pulled out a pistol and shot James Dane through the head. With a
cry of agony, the murdered man fell forward on his face. Another instant,
and Walls had fled. The dead man was alone in the deserted street.
"Next day the papers were full of the mysterious murder, but before next
day Walls and Mary Dane were far away. Rewards were offered by the
government, the police were set on the track, but all in vain--the
murderer was not to be found.
"But there was one who knew it, and to whom the knowledge was a
death-blow--guilty Mary Dane. At all times she had been more weak than
wicked, and when Walls had fled home, blood-stained and ghastly, and in
his first frenzy had told her all, she dropped down at his feet like a
dead woman.
"Mary Dane fled with him from the scene of his crime, because his baby
daughter lay on her arm, and she would not see its guilty father die a
felon's death; but her heart was torn with remorse from that hour.
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