Life is sweet, even to ruffians at bay, and Wiles, changing his decision, made with Turner not to be taken alive, said: "If you fellers will not hurt me, I'll put myself in yer hands." The crowd consenting, Jasper Very promised that no harm should be done him, and then Wiles threw down his weapon and a constable placed handcuffs upon him. In the fighting Wiles and Turner had become separated more than a hundred feet, so that the crowd which arrested Wiles did not know of the tragedy by the other tree. When they came up with their prisoner, they saw the two men lying in the shade of an oak. Some one had thrown a coat over Turner's body. When Jasper Very looked upon Long Tom, he knew that death was near. His eyes were becoming glassy and his sallow cheeks were of an ashen hue. That mysterious shadow thrown by the wings of the approaching death angel settled on his face. John Larkin was kneeling over him, trying to administer what ease and comfort he could. He was suffering great pain, but he bore it with utmost patience. Jasper Very was greatly moved at the sight. Kneeling by his side, he took his knotted and powerful hand in one of his and rubbed it gently with the other. Tears came to his eyes as he saw this rough but reclaimed moonshiner in his last agony. The sufferer spoke, and his naturally slow speech was slower still; "Good-by, cumrades, I'm goin' home. Long Tom has lived a wicked life; but God is merciful, an' he has put away all my sins. I ax pardon of all I hev hurt, an' forgive ary who has harmed me." Then his mind began to wander, and he thought himself in the church where he had found peace in his soul. "You'uns is right, Preacher Very, whisky makin', sellin' an' drinkin' is wrong; and I'll quit it for good frum dis night on. O dat sweet music, how good it makes me feel! 'Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly. Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last.' "Hush! Dey air singin' ag'in, an' how her sweet voice leads all de rest: 'Other--refuge--have--I--none; Hangs--my--helpless--soul--on--thee.' "Dat--is--my--prayer--my--only--hope. Long--Tom will--go--home--home--to--God--on--dat--prayer." He straightened his tall form on the grassy slope under the kindly shadow of the mighty oak. A look of peace and pure content came into his face, as though he were glad to have his discharge; he gave one look through the leafy top of the tree, as if beholding some form in the upper air, then slowly closed his eyes. A shiver ran through his frame, a gargle in his throat, a gasp from his lips, and all was over. In low reverent tones John Larkin said: "Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord."