“That was the _first_ time,” Braider gulped, as he went on, his glance now directed solely to Carson. “My boy, I went to bed that night, after we jailed that nigger, feeling meaner than an egg-sucking dog looks when he's caught in the act. If there is anything on earth that will shame a man it is to see another display more moral and physical courage than he does, and you did enough of both that night to show me where I stood. It was a new thing to me, and it made me mad. I was a good soldier in the war--I wear a Confederate veteran's badge that was pinned onto my coat in public by the | beautiful daughter of a dead comrade--but being shot at in a bunch ain't the same as being the _only_ target, and I showed my limit.” “Oh, you are exaggerating the whole thing,” Carson said, with a flush of embarrassment. “No I ain't, Carson Dwight,” Braider said, feelingly, and he took out his red cotton handkerchief and wiped his eyes. “You showed me that night the difference between bravery, so-called, and the genuine thing. I reckon bravery for personal gain is a weak imitation of bravery that acts just out of human pity as yours did that night. Well, that ain't all. The next day I was put to a worse test than ever. It was noised about, you know, that a bigger mob than the first was rising. I stayed out of the centre of town as much as I could, for everywhere I went folks would look at me as if they thought I'd surely do something to protect the prisoner, and at home my wife was whimpering around all day, saying she was sure Pete was innocent, or enough so to deserve a trial, if not for himself for the sake of his mammy and daddy. But what was such a wavering thing as I was to do? I took it that seventy-five per cent, of the men who had backed me with their ballot in my election was bent on lynching the prisoner, and if I opposed them they would consider me a traitor. On the other hand, I was up against this: if I did put up a feeble sort of opposition and gave in easy under pressure, the conservative men, like some we have here in town, would say I didn't mean business or I'd have actually opened fire on the mob. You see, boys, I wasn't man enough to take a stand either way, and though I well knew what was coming, I went about lying like a dog--lying in my throat, telling everybody that the indications showed that the excitement had quieted down. I went home that night and told my wife all was serene, and I drank about a quart of rye whiskey to keep me from thinking about the business and went to bed, but my conscience, I reckon, was stronger than my whiskey, for I rolled and tumbled all night. It seemed to me that I was, with my own hands, tying the rope around that pore nigger's neck. There I lay, a sworn officer of the law, flat on my back with not enough moral courage in my miserable carcass to have killed a gnat. Carson, if I saw you once before my eyes that long night, I saw you five hundred times. Your speech rang over and over in my ears.