Kitabı oku: «The Coming of the Law», sayfa 10
CHAPTER XVI
THE BEARER OF GOOD NEWS
Hollis smiled. The Judge got to his feet and approached the two men.
“Hollis,” he said, “shake hands with Mr. Allen, of Lazette.”
Allen’s hand came out quickly and was grasped by Hollis’s, both grips being hearty and warm.
“My name’s Ben Allen,” explained the stranger with a smile. “Tacking on a handle like ‘Mister’ would sure make me feel like a stranger to myself.”
“We’ll not quarrel about that,” remarked the Judge with a smile; “we’ll call you Ben.” He looked soberly at Hollis, continuing:
“Allen has been sent over here from Lazette to assist us in establishing the law. He was formerly sheriff of Colfax County, having been defeated by the Cattlemen’s Association because he refused to become a party to its schemes. On several occasions since severing his official connection with Colfax County he has acted in a special capacity for the government. He is an old acquaintance of the new Secretary of the Interior and much trusted by him. He is to be the inquisitor mentioned in the letter which I read in the presence of Dunlavey.”
Hollis looked at Allen with a new interest. After noting again the steady, serene eyes, narrowed always with a slight squint; the firm straight lips, the well set jaws, Hollis mentally decided that the Secretary of the Interior could not have made a better choice. Certainly, if he had served as sheriff of Colfax County, he had had some excellent experiences, for from reading the Lazette Eagle, Hollis had acquired considerable knowledge of the character of the inhabitants of Colfax. The editor of the Eagle had many times felicitated himself upon the fact that his town (Lazette) had not been built ten miles farther east–in which case he would have been a resident of Union–and ashamed of it.
“I think we need you,” said Hollis simply. “But I imagine you will have to concentrate your efforts upon one ranch only–the Circle Cross. If you make Dunlavey bow to the law you may consider your work finished.”
“I think Dunlavey will change his views of things shortly,” remarked Allen, quietly, but significantly. He smiled at Hollis. “I have read your paper regularly,” he said. “You’ve got the editor of our paper hopping mad–with your claims about Dry Bottom being superior to Lazette. Also, you’ve stirred up the Secretary of the Interior some. I was called to Washington three weeks ago and invited to tell what I knew of conditions out here. I didn’t exaggerate when I told the Secretary that hell was a more peaceful place for a law loving man to live in. Though,” he added with a smile, “I wasn’t ever in hell and couldn’t be positive. I was just accepting what I’ve heard preachers say about it. The Secretary asked me if I knowed you and I told him that though I didn’t I would be right glad to if you was doing anything in my line. He laughed and said he’d miss his guess if you wasn’t making things interesting. Told me to get you to one side and tell you to go to it.” He smiled dryly. “According to what I’ve read in the Kicker you don’t need to be told that and so I’m keeping my mouth shut.”
He dropped his humor and spoke seriously, questioning Hollis about the location of his ranch, listening quietly and attentively to the latter’s answers. Half an hour later after having arranged with Judge Graney for the registering of his brand and the listing of his cattle, Hollis left the court house and went to his office. In running through his mail he came upon Judge Graney’s notification and also another letter, postmarked “Chicago,” which drew a pleased smile to his face. A few minutes later Norton came in, and though Hollis had done very little on the paper he rose and smilingly announced his intention of returning to the Circle Bar.
“We’ll take the Coyote trail,” he informed Norton, after they had mounted and were riding away from the Kicker office; “I’m stopping for a moment at the Hazelton cabin. Of course,” he added, seeing a knowing grin on Norton’s face, “I expected you would be suspicious–married folks have a habit of adopting a supercilious and all-wise attitude toward those of us who have been unfortunate enough to remain in a state of single blessedness.”
“Meanin’ that you’re some sore because you ain’t got hooked up yet?” grinned Norton.
“Perhaps,” laughed Hollis. “But I have been thinking seriously of trying to reach your altitude.”
“Girl willin’?” queried Norton, as they rode down through a little gully, then up to a stretch of plain that brought them to the Coyote trail.
“That’s where I am all at sea,” returned Hollis. He laughed. “I suppose you’ve read Ace’s poem in the Kicker?” He caught Norton’s nod and continued. “Well, Ace succeeded in crowding a whole lot of truth into that effort. Of course you remember the first couplet:
“‘Woman–she don’t need no tooter, he quoted.
Be she skule ma’am or biscut shooter.”’
“A woman seems to have an intuitive knowledge of man’s mental processes. At least she gauges him pretty well without letting him into the mystery of how she does it. A man can never tell where he will land.” Ace came very near striking the nail on the head when he wrote in the second couplet that:
‘She has most curyus ways about her,
Which leads a man to kinda dout her.’
“And then, knowing man so well, she absolutely refuses to let him know anything of her thoughts. Which again, Ace has noted in this manner:
‘Though lookin’ at her is sure a pleasure;
There ain’t no way to get her measure.
I reckon she had man on the run
A long while before the world begun.’
“That seems to be the exact truth,” he laughed.
Norton grinned at him. “You single guys have certa’nly got a whole lot to learn,” he said, “for a fact. Of course if she’s any kind of a woman at all she’s got him runnin’. But which way?”
“Why, toward her, of course!” laughed Hollis.
Norton’s smile widened. “You’ve tumbled to that, then,” he observed dryly. “Then you’re ready for the next lesson.”
“And that?” questioned Hollis.
Norton smiled with ineffable pity. “Lordy!” he laughed; “you single guys don’t know a thing not a durned thing!”
After that they rode on in silence. When they came in sight of the Hazelton cabin Norton reined in his pony and sat motionless in the saddle, grinning at Hollis.
“You run along now,” he advised. “I’ll be hittin’ her off toward the Dry Bottom trail for the rest of the way–I sorta like that trail better anyway.”
He urged his pony off at a tangent and Hollis continued on his way. He found Nellie alone, her brother having gone out on the range. She came out on the porch, hearing his pony’s hoofs on the hard sand and rocks of the trail, and there was a sincere welcome in her eyes. It was the first time that he had visited the cabin since he had returned to the Circle Bar.
“Oh!” she said delightedly. And then, aware of the sudden light that had come into Hollis’s eyes at this evidence of interest, she blushed and looked down at the hem of her skirt, nervously pushing it out with the toe of her shoe.
During the days of Hollis’s convalescence at the Hazelton cabin he had seen the young woman in many moods. In none of them, however, had she seemed so attractive as now. Confusion became her, he decided, and he regarded her with a new interest as he sat on his pony, awaiting her invitation to dismount. It came presently.
“It is frightfully hot,” she said, moving over to where stood two chairs–one in which he had passed many hours during the days of his convalescence, the other in which she had sat quite often–near him. Not until now did he realize how full and satisfying those days had been. As he dismounted and tied his pony to one of the slender porch columns he smiled–thinking of Norton’s question during their discussion of Ace’s poem. “Of course”–the range boss had said–“if she’s any kind of a woman at all she’s got him runnin’. But which way?” Of course–literally–she did not have him running, but he knew that some uncommon passion had gripped him and that he was unaccountably pleased.
His smile grew when he remembered her sudden indignation over his thoughtless statement that women had never interested him. Of course he would not tell her that he felt a serious interest in one woman. When he dropped into his favorite chair, removing his hat and mopping the perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief, he caught her looking swiftly at the scar under his right eye–which would always be a reminder of his experience on the night of the storm. She saw his brows contract in a frown.
“You have quite recovered,” she said; “except for that slight scar under the eye you are the same as before the meeting with Dunlavey’s men.”
He looked beyond her at the tawny mountains that rose in the distance,–miles on the other side of the big basin–swimming in the shimmering blur of white sky–somber guardians of a mysterious world. What secret did they guard? What did they know of this world of eternal sunlight, of infinite distance? Did they know as much of the world upon which they frowned as he knew of the heart of the slender, motherly girl whose eyes betrayed her each time he looked into them?
A smile that lurked deep within him did not show in his face–it was unborn and it gripped him strangely, creating a sensation in his breast that he could not analyze, but which pleaded to be expressed. He could not express it–now. He feared to trust himself and so he fought it down, assuring himself that it was not yet time. But he knew that he was not the same as before his experience with Dunlavey on the night of the storm. Something had stolen into his heart and was enthroned there; something deeper than a mere scar–a girl who had mothered him in his extremity; who had hovered over him, attending to his bruises, binding his wounds, tenderly smoothing his brow during the days and nights of the fever; attending his wants during convalescence; erecting a citadel in his heart which would stand as a monument to his gratitude. No, not gratitude merely. The smile was born. He turned and looked at her, meeting her eyes fairly, and hers dropped in confusion.
“Do you think that I am the same as before?” he asked suddenly.
She stood up, radiant, pointing a finger toward the Coyote trail. “Ed is coming!” she declared.
Before he could say another word she was down off the porch and running toward her brother, holding his horse while he dismounted, kissing him, patting him lovingly as they came toward the porch.
The latter greeted Hollis warmly. “A fellow couldn’t help but feel good with a sister like that–now could he?” he inquired as he came upon the porch and took the chair which Nellie had vacated. She had disappeared into the cabin, not even looking at Hollis, but she could not have heard Hollis’s reply had she remained. For it was wordless. There are times when men understand perfectly without speech.
Hollis stayed for dinner. Nellie was radiantly silent during the meal, attending to the wants of the two men, listening while they discussed recent happenings in the county. Ed was much pleased to hear of the coming of Ben Allen.
“That guy is business–through and through,” he assured Hollis. “He was the best sheriff Colfax County ever had–and it’s had some good ones. Allen’s quiet, but there ain’t anyone going to herdride him. Some have tried it, but they found it didn’t pay and so they don’t try it any more.”
After dinner they went out on the porch for a smoke, leaving Nellie inside. They could hear her singing as she washed the dishes. Hazelton smiled as a particularly happy note reached his ears. “I don’t know what’s got into Sis,” he said, flashing a swift glance at Hollis. “I don’t know as I ever heard her sing that well before.”
Hollis made no reply and the conversation turned to the drought–as all conversations did during that period. Word had come to Hazelton of Dunlavey’s warning to the cattle owners. He had heard also of Hollis’s announced intention of taking sides with the small owners.
“Dunlavey’s ten days is up the day after tomorrow,” said Hazelton. “If Dunlavey starts anything what are you going to do?”
“That will depend on what Dunlavey starts,” smiled Hollis.
“H’m!” inexpressively grunted Hazelton. He flashed a glance at the face of the young man beside him, noting the firm mouth, the steady eyes, and the faint, grim smile. “H’m!” he said again. “I suppose you know who you’re going to give your water to?” he questioned.
Hollis nodded. “To men who refused to help my father when he needed help,” he returned.
Hazelton smiled oddly. “I’ve heard about that,” he said. He laughed. “It strikes me that I wouldn’t give such men any water,” he added.
Hollis turned and looked at him, meeting his gaze fairly, and holding it.
“Yes, you would, Hazelton,” he said, a broad smile on his face.
“How do you know that?” queried the latter, slightly defiant.
Hollis motioned toward the kitchen door. “I know,” he said; “you’re her brother.”
“Well,” began Hazelton hesitatingly,–“I – ”
The screen door opened–slammed, and Nellie Hazelton came out upon the porch. She had found time to change her morning dress for a soft, fluffy creation of some sort, and she stood before them, flushing slightly as both looked at her, a picture that smote Hollis’s heart with a sudden longing. Only one glance did she give him and then she was over near Ed’s chair, leaning over him, stroking his hair.
For a long time Hollis sat, watching them with sympathetic, appreciative eyes. Then he thought of the letter in his pocket, the one postmarked “Chicago,” which he had discovered at the Kicker office on returning from the court house. He drew it from his pocket and read the legend in the upper left hand corner:
“Dr. J. J. Hammond, – Hospital, Chicago, Ill.”
He studied the legend for some little time, his thoughts busy with the contents of the envelope. Fortunately, his letter to the great physician had fallen into the hands of the son, Tom Hammond, and the latter, not forgetting his old schoolmate, had appealed to his father. This was what the surgeon had written in the letter–he would not have agreed to accept the case had it not been for the fact that Hollis had been, and was Tom’s friend. He would be pleased if the patient would make the journey to Chicago within a month, that he might be able to take up his case before entering upon some scientific investigations which had been deferred a long time, etc.
Hollis had been reading the letter again. He finished it and looked up, to see Ed and Nellie watching him. He flushed and smiled, holding out the letter to Nellie.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I found this interesting. Perhaps you will also find it so.”
He leaned back with a smile and watched them. But he did not, watch long. He saw Nellie start, saw the color slowly recede from her face, saw her hands clench tightly–as she began to read the letter. He turned away, not caring to watch them during that sacred moment in which they would read the line of hope that the great surgeon had written. He looked–it seemed–for a long time down the Coyote trail, and when he finally turned his head toward them he saw Ed Hazelton sitting erect in his chair, apparently stunned by the news. But before him, close to him, so close that he felt her breath in his face–her eyes wide with delight, thankfulness–and perhaps something more–Nellie was kneeling.
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Hollis!” she said earnestly, her lips all a-quiver; “Thank you, and God bless you!”
He tried to sit erect; tried to open his lips to tell her that he had done only what any man would have done under the circumstances. But he moved not, nor did he speak, for her arms had gone around his shoulders, and her lips were suddenly pressed firmly and quickly to his. Then he was released and she turned, crying:
“Come and thank him, Ed!”
But Ed had taken himself off–perhaps he did not care to allow anyone to witness his joy.
Some time during the evening Hollis took his departure from the Hazelton cabin. Ed had come back, silently taking Hollis’s hand and gripping it earnestly. And before Hollis had departed Ed had taken himself into the house. Perhaps he divined that there were other’s joys beside his.
That night before retiring Nellie stole softly into her brother’s room and kissed him lightly on the forehead. That same night also Hollis rode up to the Circle Bar corral gate–singing. Norton and Potter were sitting on the gallery, waiting for him. While Hollis was removing the saddle from his pony Norton rose from his chair and smiled at Potter.
“Well,” he said to the latter, “I’m goin’ to bed.” He moved a few steps toward the door and then turned and looked back at Potter, who had also risen. He laughed.
“Listen, Potter,” he said. Then he quoted:
“Woman–she don’t need no tooter
Be she skule ma’am or biscuit shooter.”
He hesitated and looked again at Potter. “Why,” said the latter, puzzled, “that’s from Ace’s poem!”
“Sure,” laughed Norton; “that’s just what it is!”
CHAPTER XVII
THE RUSTLER
The following day Hollis rode to town over the Dry Bottom trail. Had he followed a perfectly natural inclination he would have taken the Coyote, for it would have brought him to the Hazelton cabin. But he succeeded in forcing himself to go the other way, arguing that Nellie and her brother might wish to be alone to consider the great good fortune that had come upon them.
And so they did, though had Hollis appeared to them this morning as they sat upon the porch he would have been assured of a royal welcome. Indeed, during the early morning hours Nellie had cast many furtive, expectant glances down the Coyote trail. When eight o’clock came and Hollis did not appear she gave him up.
The dawn found her kneeling beside her brother’s bed.
“Ed!” she said, leaning over him, waking him, her eyes alight with joy; “Ed, he says you can be cured!”
He struggled and sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“Gosh, sis!” he said in an awed voice. “Then it’s true! I was afraid I’d been dreaming!”
“It is no dream,” she returned ecstatically; “it is reality–beautiful reality! Wasn’t it simply great of him to take such an interest in us?”
“Us?” grinned Ed, noting her crimson, happy face. “Well, mebbe he did it for us,” he added subtly, “but I take it I’ve got a right to have another opinion on that.”
She fled from him without answering and a little later he heard her singing as she prepared breakfast. After the meal Ed made a short trip out into the basin to look after his cattle and then returned to the cabin. Sitting on the porch he and Nellie devoted several hours to a grave discussion of the situation. They discovered that it had a serious side.
In the first place there was the dangerous nature of the operation. Here Ed laughed away his sister’s fears by assuring her that he had an excellent constitution and that since the fall from the pony had not killed him he was in no danger from the knife. If Nellie entertained any doubt of this she wisely remained silent, though Ed could see that she was not entirely reassured. He swept away her last objection to this forbidding feature when he told her that he preferred taking the risk to living in constant dread of a recurrence of an acute attack of his malady–such as he had experienced when he had attacked Hollis in Devil’s Hollow.
There were many other things to be discussed–chiefly the care of the cattle and the cabin during his absence in Chicago. He would not listen to her suggestion to accompany him–he would prefer to have her remain at the cabin. Or he would try to arrange with Hollis for her to stay at the Circle Bar. There she would have Mrs. Norton for a companion, and she might ride each day to the cabin. He was certain that Hollis would arrange to have his men care for the cattle. He assured her that he would settle that question with Hollis when the latter passed the cabin that night on his return to the Circle Bar. Of course Hollis would take the Coyote trail to-night, he insinuated, grinning hugely at the blushes that reached her face.
But Hollis did not pass the cabin that night. He had taken the Dry Bottom trail on his return to the Circle Bar.
He had accomplished very little that day on account of the heat–and a certain vision that had troubled him–taking his mind off his work and projecting it to a little cabin in a small basin, to a porch where sat a girl–the girl of his vision. She had voluntarily kissed him. Had it been all on account of gratitude? Of course–though–Well, memory of the kiss still lingered and he was willing to forgive her the slight lapse of modesty because he had been the recipient.
There had been one interesting development in Dry Bottom during the day. All day the town had swarmed with ranch owners who had come in to the court house to list their cattle for taxation and register their brands. Shortly after noon Ben Allen had dropped into the Kicker office with the news that every owner in the county with the exception of Dunlavey had responded to the law’s demands.
To Hollis’s inquiry regarding the course he would pursue in forcing Dunlavey to comply with the law, Allen remarked with a smile that there was “plenty of time.” He had had much experience with men of the Dunlavey type.
Potter and Hollis exchanged few words during the ride to the Circle Bar. The heat–the eternal, scorching, blighting heat–still continued; the dust had become an almost unbearable irritation. During the trip to the ranch the two men came upon an arroyo over which Hollis had passed many times. At a water hole where he had often watered his horse they came upon several dead steers stretched prone in the green slime. The water had disappeared; the spring that had provided it had dried and there was nothing to tell of it except a small stretch of damp earth, baking in the sun. The steers were gaunt, lanky creatures, their hides stretched tight as drum-heads over their ribs, their tongues lolling out, black and swollen, telling mutely of their long search for water and their suffering. Coyotes had been at work on them; here lay a heap of bare bones; there a skull glistened in the white sunlight.
A few miles farther on they came upon one of the punchers from the Circle Y with a calf thrown over the saddle in front of him. He was driving several gaunt, drooping cattle toward the Rabbit-Ear. The calf bellowed piteously at sight of Hollis and Potter. The puncher hailed them.
“You’re Hollis, of the Circle Bar, ain’t you?” he said when the latter had spurred his pony close to him. At Hollis’s nod he grinned ironically. “Hot!” he said, coming quickly to the universal topic of conversation; “I reckon this wouldn’t be called hot in some places–in hell, for instance. Say,” he said as he saw Hollis’s lips straighten, “to-morrow the ten days is up. Mebbe it’ll be hotter then. The damned skunk!”
Of course he referred to Dunlavey–the latter’s threat to drive all foreign cattle from the Rabbit-Ear had been carried far and wide by riders–the whole country knew of it. There had been much condemnation and some speculation, but there was nothing to be done until after the tenth day. Even then much depended upon Hollis’s attitude. Would he make war upon Dunlavey in defense of the men who had refused aid to his father in time of need?
Hollis was still of the opinion that Dunlavey would not attempt to carry out his threat. He smiled at the malevolent expression in the puncher’s eyes.
“Somehow,” he said quietly, “I have always been able to distinguish between empty boast and determination. Dunlavey has done some foolish things, no doubt, and is doing a foolish thing in defying the law, but I don’t anticipate that he will do anything quite so rash as to further antagonize the small owners.”
The puncher sat erect and laughed harshly. “You don’t?” he inquired in an over-gentle, polite voice. “Mister Hollis,” he added, as the latter looked quickly at him, “you ain’t heard nothin’ from the Circle Bar to-day, I reckon?”
Hollis’s answer was negative. The Circle Y man’s face grew suddenly serious. “You ain’t! Well, then, that’s the reason you’re talkin’ so. The last I heard from the Circle Bar was that Norton an’ some of your men had captured one of Dunlavey’s men–Greasy–rebrandin’ some Circle Bar steers an’ was gettin’ ready to string him up. I reckon mebbe you’d call that doin’ somethin’!”
Hollis straightened. He had suddenly forgotten the heat, the dust, and the problem of water.
“How long ago did you hear this?” he demanded sharply.
“’Bout an hour ago,” returned the Circle Y man. “I was rustlin’ up these strays down in the basin an’ headin’ them toward the crick when I runs plum into a man from the Three Bar outfit. He was plum excited over it. Said they’d ketched Greasy down by the Narrows sometime after noon an’ – ”
But the Circle Y man finished to the empty air for Hollis’s pony had leaped forward into a cloud of dust, running desperately.
The Circle Y man sat erect, startled. “Well, I’ll be – ” he began, speaking to Potter. But the printer was following his chief and was already out of hearing. “Now what do you suppose – ” again began the Circle Y man, and then fell silent, suddenly smitten with the uselessness of speech. He yelled at his gaunt steers and shifted the calf in front of him to a more comfortable position. Then he proceeded on his way. But as he rode his lips curled, his eyes narrowed, and speech again returned to him. “Now why in hell would a man get so damned excited over hearin’ that someone was goin’ to string up a measly rustler?”
The interrogation remained unanswered. The Circle Y man continued on his way, watching the fast disappearing dust clouds on the Circle Bar trail.
When Hollis reached the Circle Bar ranchhouse there was no one about. He rode up to the front gallery and dismounted, thinking that perhaps Norton would be in the house. But before he had crossed the gallery Mrs. Norton came to the door. She was pale and laboring under great excitement, but instantly divined Hollis’s errand.
“They’ve taken him down to the cottonwood” she told Hollis, pointing toward the grove in which Hollis had tried the six-shooter that Norton had given him the first day after his arrival at the ranch. “They are going to hang him! Hurry!”
Hollis was back in the saddle in an instant and racing his pony down past the bunk house at break-neck speed. He urged the little animal across an intervening stretch of plain, up a slight rise, down into a shallow valley, and into the cottonwood, riding recklessly through the trees and urging the pony at a headlong pace through the underbrush–crashing it down, scaring the rattlers from their concealment, and startling the birds from their lofty retreats.
For ten minutes he rode as he had never ridden before. And then he came upon them. They stood at the base of a fir-balsam, whose gnarled limbs spread flatly outward–three Circle Bar men, a half dozen from the various outfits whose herds grazed his range, and the rustler–Greasy–a rope knotted about his neck, standing directly under one of the out-spreading limbs of the tree, his head bowed, but his face wearing a mocking, defiant grin. The rope had been thrown over the limb and several men were holding it, preparatory to drawing it taut. Norton was standing near, his face pale, his lips straight and grim with determination. Apparently Hollis had arrived just in time.
None of the men moved from their places when Hollis dismounted, but all looked at him as though expecting him to express approval of what they were about to do. Several lowered their gaze with embarrassment when they saw that he did not approve.
“What is all this about, Norton?” he asked, speaking to the latter, who had stepped forward and now stood beside Greasy. Whatever excitement had resulted from the sudden discovery that his men had captured a rustler and were about to hang him, together with the strain of his hard ride to the cottonwood, had disappeared, and Hollis’s voice was quiet as he addressed his range boss.
Norton smiled grimly. “We were roundin’ up a few strays just the other side of the Narrows this morning, and Ace and Weary were workin’ down the river. In that little stretch of gully just the other side of the Narrows they came upon this sneak brandin’ two of our beeves through a piece of wet blanket. He’d already done it an’ so we ketched him with the goods. It’s the first time we’ve ever been able to lay a hand on one of Dunlavey’s pluguglies, an’ we was figgerin’ on makin’ an example of him.”
Hollis met Norton’s grim gaze and smiled. “I want to thank you–all of you, for guarding my interests so zealously,” he said. “There is no doubt that this man richly deserves hanging–that is, of course, according to your code of ethics. I understand that is the way things have been done heretofore. But I take it none of you want to make me appear ridiculous?”
“Sure not,” came several voices in chorus.
Hollis laughed. “But you took the surest way of making me appear so,” he returned.
He saw Norton’s face flush and he knew that the latter had already grasped the significance of his words. But the others, simpler of mind, reasoning by no involved process, looked at him, plainly puzzled. He would have to explain more fully to them. He did so. When he had shown them that in hanging the rustler he would be violating the principle that he had elected to defend, they stood before him abashed, thoroughly disarmed. All except Ace. The poet’s mind was still active.
“I reckon you might say you didn’t know nothin’ about us hangin’ him?” he suggested.
“So I might,” returned Hollis. “But people would not think so. And there is my conscience. It wouldn’t be such a weight upon it–the hanging of this man; I believe I would enjoy standing here and watching him stretch your rope. But I would not be able to reconcile the action with the principle for which I am fighting. I believe none of you men would trust me very much if I advocated the law one day and broke it the next. The application of this principle would be much the same as if I stole a horse to-day and to-morrow had you arrested for stealing one.”
