Bradley went down to see Harold, and the two spent a couple of hours together. Bradley talked to him in plain and simple words, without any assumption. His voice was kind and sincere, and Harold nearly wept under its music, but he added very little to Bradley's knowledge of the situation. "He struck me with the whip, and then I--I can't remember much about it, my mind was a kind of a red blur," Harold said at last desperately. "Why did he strike you with the whip?" "I told him he was a black-hearted liar." "What made you say that to him?" persevered Bradley. "Because that's what he was." "Did he say something to you which you resented?" "Yes--he did." "What was it?" Right there Harold closed his lips and Bradley took another tack. "Harry, I want you to tell me something. Did you have anything to do with killing Brownlow's dog?" "No," replied Harold disdainfully. "Did you have any hand in the raid on Brownlow's orchard a week later?" "No; I was at home." "Did your folks see you during the evening?" "No; I was with Jack up in the attic, reading." "You've taken a hand in _some_ of these things--raids--haven't you?" "Yes, but I never tried to destroy things. It was all in fun." "I understand. Well, now, Harold, you've got a worse name than belongs to you, and I wish you'd just tell me the whole truth about this fight, and we will do what we can to help you." Harold's face grew sullen. "I don't care what they do with me. They're all down on me anyway," he slowly said, and Bradley arose and went out with a feeling of discouragement. CHAPTER IV THE TRIAL The day of his trial came as a welcome change to Harold. He had no fear of punishment and he hated delay. Every day before his sentence began was a loss of time--kept him just that much longer from the alluring lands to the West. His father called often to see him, but the boy remained inexorably silent in all these meetings, and the minister went away white with pain. Even to his sister Harold was abrupt and harsh, but Jack's devotion produced in him the most exalted emotion, and he turned upon his loyal chum the whole force of his affectionate nature. He did not look up to Jack; he loved him more as a man loves his younger brother, and yet even to him he would not utter the words young Slocum had flung at him. Lawyer Talcott had asked young Burns to get at this if possible, for purpose of defense, but it was not possible. The court met on the first Tuesday in September. The day was windless and warm, and as Harold walked across the yard with the sheriff he looked around at the maple leaves, just touched with crimson and gold and russet, and his heart ached with desire to be free. The scent of the open air made his nostrils quiver like those of a deer. Jack met them on the path--eager to share his hero's trouble. "Please, sheriff, let me walk with Harry."