“Yes; he said yore time was comin', too; he said you was the prime mover an' power in the organization--that you was a rank coward at heart, an' that you jest loved the fun o' scarin' niggers because you was afraid o' brave white men. I dunno, I'm jest tellin' you what he told me. He said your luck was goin' to turn flat ag'in' you--that your present support would sluff away, an' you'd find yourself alone with nothin' 'twixt you an' the Almighty but the niggers you'd sent on ahead, an' that you'd git on your knees to 'em an' beg 'em to speak a kind word for you, but that they'd turn a deef ear. He may have missed it in yore case, but was right about _me_. Jim Hoag, I'm a dyin' man, an' I'm in hell already.” Hoag was becoming angry. Had he dared he would have spoken more sharply. He told himself that Trawley had lost his reason, and that he was a very unsafe man in his present condition, holding the knowledge he held. “You'll have to git out o' this,” he said, sternly. “You need a change.” “I need more'n that,” Trawley groaned, and he beat the top of his desk with a limp, splaying hand. “I need medicine that ain't in no bottle or doctor's saddle-bags. I know what I need, but I don't know whar to git it. I need what my good old mammy had when she died, shoutin' an' talkin' about her folks that had gone on, who she declared was right thar over the bed holdin' out their hands to her.” “Take it from me, Sid,” Hoag said, carelessly, “all that stuff is pure poppycock. When a man's time comes the jig is up--that's all; he's done for; he's put in the ground an' rots. As for me, that's all I want or expect.” “I know you've always said that,” Trawley answered, “an' I used to think maybe you was right, bein' sech a big man in your way; but I know different now. Say, Jim Hoag, what do you make o' Paul Rundel?” “Make o' 'im--what do you mean?” “I want to know what could 'a' fetched 'imback here to give up to the halter like he did unless--unless he was led by some'n in 'im bigger, wider, an' higher than jest his mortal body?” Hoag smiled significantly, and idly tapped the leg of his trousers with his whip. “Just betwixt us two, Sid, I never have knowed just _what_ Paul's game was. I saw he was a good man for the job I had open, an' I tuck 'im in. I never have bothered about the tale he told. That was his lookout. He's got a clear head for business. He understands human nature, an' he was sharp enough, I reckon, to know that nine juries out o' ten would be lenient in a case like his'n. He was homesick for these old mountains, an' was willin' to serve a year or two an' be done with it.”