“Why, when Danny fust come in, Mr. Garner, he went to the bureau drawyer and tuck out his revolver an' loaded it thar before us, cussin' at every breath agin Mr. Dwight. I tried to calm 'im down, an' so did my brother George, but he was as nigh crazy as I ever saw any human bein' in my life. He said he was goin' straight to Darley an' kill Carson Dwight, if he had to go to his daddy's house an' drag 'im out of his bed. He said he'd tried it once an' slipped up, but that if he missed again he'd kill hisse'f in disgust.” “I see, I see,” Garner said, in the pause that ensued. He stroked his smooth chin with his tapering fingers and opened and shut his mouth, and he kept his eyes on the ceiling as if the witness had made the most ordinary sort of statement. He leaned again on the back of his chair, and then lowering his glance to the face of the witness, he asked: “Did you gather from Dan's talk that morning, Mrs. Willis, when it was that he made the _first_ attempt on the life of Carson Dwight?” “Well, I don't know as I did _then_,” the woman answered; “but he told us about it the day after he fired the shot.” “Oh, he did!” Garner's face was still a study of guileless indifference, and he stroked his chin again, his eyes now on the floor, his arms folded across his breast. “What day was that, Mrs. Willis?” “Why, the day after Mr. Dwight kept the mob from hangin' old Lindy Warren's boy.” Profound astonishment was now visible on every countenance except that of Garner. “I never knew positively before _who_ fired that shot,” he said, carelessly, “though, of course, I had an idea who did it. So Dan admitted that?” “Yes, he told us about that, and about tryin' to git at Mr. Dwight several other times.” “I reckon you are satisfied in your own mind that if Mr. Dwight hadn't defended himself Dan would have killed him?” Garner pursued, adroitly. “I know he would, Mr. Garner, an' when I heard the report that Danny had shot hisse'f by accident, while he was practisin' with his pistol, I was reconciled to it. I didn't think Mr. Dwight was to blame. I always thought he was doin' the best he could, an' that politics caused the bad blood. I always liked 'im, to tell the truth. I'd heard that he was a friend to the pore an' humble, even to pore old niggers, an' somehow I felt relieved when I heard he'd escaped my boy. I knowed Danny meant murder an' that no good could come of it. I'd a sight ruther know a child of mine was dead an' in the hands of his Maker than tied up in jail waitin' to be publicly hung in the end. No, it is better like it is, though if I may be allowed to say so, I can't for the life of me, understand what you-all have got Mr. Dwight hauled up here like this, when his mother is in sech a delicate condition. Good Lord, he hain't done nothin' to be tried for!”