Chapter 20 THE LAST INTERVIEW.

Thy race is run-thy fate is sealed,

Trust not the ties that bound thee;

A thousand snares, still unrevealed,

Are woven close around thee.

Nor strength, nor craft availeth now;

Thy stubborn will is riven;

The death drops hang upon thy brow,

There's justice yet in Heaven.

It was over at last. The saloon, the banquet hall, the