“‘Not unless you remember me a-throwin’ up my hat in front o’ the stan’ an’ yellin’ when you wus stump-speakin’ in Murray jest ‘fore yore ‘lection,’ said I. “Then he laughed kinder good-natured like, an’ said: ‘I’m sorry to see a voter o’ mine in a fix like yo’r ‘n. What can I do fer you?’ “‘I want to have a talk with you, yore Honor, an’ that bad,’ said I. “‘I am at yore disposal,’ said he. ‘That’s what I’m heer fer. I ’ll ax the superintendent to call you in a moment. What is yore name?’ “‘Richard Wakeman, yore Honor,’ said I. “‘An’ one o’ the best men we ever had,’ said the superintendent. “Well, they passed on, an’ in a few minutes I was ordered to come to the superintendent’s office, an’ thar I found the governor tilted back smokin’ a fine cigar. “‘You wanted to have some ‘n’ to say to me, Wakeman?’ said he. “I eased my ball an’ chain down on the skin of a big-eyed varmint o’ some sort, an’ stood up straight. “‘I did, yore Honor, an’ that bad,’ said I. “‘What is it?’ said he. “‘I want to put my case before you, yore Honor,’ said I. ‘An’ I’m not a-goin’ to begin, as every convict does, by sayin’ he ain’t guilty, fer I know you’ve heerd that tale tell yo’ ‘re heartily sick of it.’ “‘But are you guilty?’ said the governor. ‘I _have_ seed men sent up fer crimes they never committed.’ “‘Yore Honor,’ said I, ‘I didn’t no more intend to steal that hoss o’ Pike Williams’s than you did--not a bit. Gittin’ on a spree about once a year is my main fault, an’ it was Christmas, an’ all of us was full o’ devilment. It was at the Springplace bar, an’ Alf Moreland struck me a whack across the face with his whip, an’ bein’ astraddle of a fine nag he made off. Pike’s nag was hitched at the rack nigh me, an’, without hardly knowin’ what I was doin’, I jumped on it an’ spurred off after Alf. I run ’im nip an’ tuck fer about seven mile, an’ then me an’ him rid on fer more whisky down the valley. The next day I was arrested, so drunk they had to haul me to jail in a wagon. They tried me before a jury o’ men that never did like me, an’ I got five yeer.’ “When I stopped thar to draw a fresh breath the governor axed, ‘Is that what you wanted to say, Wakeman?’ “‘Not a word of it, yore Honor,’ said I. ‘I jest wanted to put a straight question to you about the law. Ef you knowed that a man was a-sufferin’ a sight more on account of imprisonment than his sentence called fer, would that be right?’ “The governor studied a minute, then he kinder smiled at the superintendent, an’ said: “‘That’s a question fer the conscience. Ef a man is imprisoned fer a crime, an’ jail life breaks his health down, an’ is killin’ ‘im, then he ort to be pardoned out.’