“Put Christof Nielsen in the dock!” At the name a haggard face emerges from the herd in the dock. The head is hooped about with blood-stained bandages—the face is bruised and swollen—one arm hangs limp and helpless at his side—with the other he steadies himself at the spiked railing as he obeys the court officer’s gesture to stand. He no longer wears the wolfskin tunic—but a worn “sack-coat” too small for him. His neck and the circlet of wolf’s teeth are concealed by the collar of a flannel shirt. Trousers are on his legs instead of the skins and cross-garterings, and on his feet, where once were the great shoes of furred wolfskin, are hard shoes “made in America,” which torture his feet. His hair has lost its sunlustre and is cut short. In his hand he carries a small cloth cap. “Christof Nielsen,” reads the clerk, “you are charged in this bill of indictment with the larceny of one silver watch, of the value of four dollars, the property of John Hall. How say you, guilty or not guilty?” The prisoner lifts his dull, sick eyes, for the first time, when the voice of the clerk ceases, and stares inquiringly at the officer at his side. “Not guilty,” answers the officer for him. “Put him in the small dock,” commands the prosecuting officer, and the prisoner is marched, staggering, from the one dock to the other, the gate clangs to behind him, and he is upon his trial by his “peers”—the twelve “good men and true” yonder. There are no challenges. The prosecutor of the pleas challenges only for the Commonwealth, and the prisoner is not assisted by counsel. Instead, the Commonwealth’s officer opens his case to the jury. “Gentlemen of the jury, the charge is pocket picking. In the mêlée consequent upon the arrest the prisoner assaulted an officer. For that, also, he is indicted upon a separate bill. I shall try both together. It will be for you to say upon such evidence as I shall produce whether or not he is guilty and, if so, of which or both offences. Officer Gorman, take the stand.” Gorman is emulous to oblige the attorney for the State. “You made this arrest. Tell the jury all about it.” There is much jockeying before Gorman is brought to his pace. He would wander into the enchanting by-paths of his adventure, to show his heroism. But the prosecuting officer will not permit this, and so the gist of his testimony is in this answer: “I arrested that man there and run him in.” “You searched him, of course, and what did you find?” “These here.” He holds up a letter with a curl dangling from its broken end. The benchers laugh. “Nothing else? No watch?” “No. I expect he throwed that into a sewer. They mostly do when we git after ’em.” “Did he escape from you?” “He tried to. I had to both club and shoot to git him. He’s strong.” “You were obliged to call for assistance?” “Yes.” “Has he ever been arrested before?” “Yes. Served a term of seven months five years ago.” “Do you identify the man?” “Yes.”