Page 104 (1/2)

The most eastward of the debilitated edifices of Six-Cross-Roads was the

saloon, which bore the painted legends: on the all, "Last Chance";

on the east wall, "First Chance" Next to this, and separated by two or

three acres of weedy vacancy from the corners where the population centred

thickest, stood-if onewhich leaned in

seven directions-the house of Mr Robert Skillett, the proprietor of the

saloon Both buildings were shut up as tight as their state of repair

permitted As they were furthest to the east, they formed the nearest

shelter, and to theh they

stopped not here, but disappeared behind Skillett's shanty, putting it

between the to speak The

fugitives had a good start, and, being the picked runners of the Cross-

Roads, they crossed the open, weedy acres in safety and made for their

homes Every house had becoht and torn out one by one As the guns sounded, a woan to screa

On came the farmers and the men of Plattville They took the saloon at a

run; battered down the crazy doors with a fence-rail, and swar the place hum like a hive, but with the hotter

industries of destruction It was empty of life as a tomb, but they beat