“No, I don't see no reason,” the condemned man finally said. “I'm here to meet you, to tell you that I deserve more'n you fellows could lay on me ef you begun now an' kept up a steady lick till the last one of you was fagged out. The only trouble, gentlemen, is that I hain't a-goin' to _feel_ the lash. Thar's a pain inside o' me so keen an' fur down that what you do jest to my body won't count. You are the friends of my wife an' childern; you are better friends to 'em than I've been, an' I want you to strip me to my dirty hide an' whip my duty into me, ef that is possible. The only thing I would ask is to spare my folks the knowledge of it, ef you kin see it that away. Keep this thing quiet--jest amongst us. I may be able to brace up an' try to do right in the future, but I don't believe I kin ef they know o' my humiliation. “I don't ax that as a favor to myself, you understand, gentlemen, but to them you are befriendin'--a weak woman an' helpless little childern.” Pole ceased speaking. There was profound silence, broken only by the croaking of frogs in the spring branch near by. Dilworthy thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers awkwardly, and slowly turned his eyeholes upon the eyeholes about him, but no one made sign or sound. “Boys, you all hear what Pole says,” finally came from him. “He seems to feel--I mought say to realize--that--” The voice spent itself in the folds of the speaker's mask. “Hold! I want to say a word.” A tall, lank man stepped from the group, spitting wads of cotton from his mouth and lifting the cap from his head. “I'm Jeff Wade, Pole. You see who I am. You kin appear agin me before the grand jury an' swear I'm a member o' this gang, ef you want to. I don't give a damn. In j'inin' the association, I tuck the oath to abide by what the majority done. But I didn't take no oath that I wouldn't talk when I got ready, an' I want now to explain, as is my right, I reckon, how I happen to be here. I've fit this case agin you fer several meetin's with all my soul an' strength, beca'se I knowed you was too good a man at heart to whip like a dog fer what you've done. I fit it an' fit it, but last meetin' my wife was down havin' another twelve-pound boy, as maybe you heard, an' somehow in my absence the vote went agin you. Strong speeches was made by yore wife's kin about her treatment, an' action was finally tuck. But I'm here to say that every lick that falls on yore helpless back to-night will hurt me more than ef they was on me You've made a better man out o' me in a few ways, Pole, an', by God! I'm a-goin' to feel like some o' that dirty crowd felt away back thar when they went along an' sanctioned the death agony of our Saviour. You are too good a man, Pole, to be degraded this away. What you've done agin yore own was through weakness that you couldn't well help. We've all got our faults, but I don't know a man in this gang that's got as many good p'ints to counteract the bad as you have.”