“One thousand first year. She’s raised a thousand every year. She’s a thrifty old party, willing to pay, but not willing to pay any more than necessary. When it got to five thousand I took the case.” Harned looked wistfully about him. “I might raise four thousand—” “Better stop right there. I refused fifty thousand once to let a man go.” “Excuse me,” said Harned, humbly; “I remember. I’m so distracted I can’t think of anything but Maggie and the baby. Ain’t there anything that will move you? I’ve paid for that thing. I saved a boy’s life once—” “I know; I’ve seen the boy.” “Then you know I fought for his life; I fought awful hard. I said to myself, if he lived I’d know it was the sign God had forgiven me. He did live. I’ve paid, Mr. Wickliff, I’ve paid in the sight of God. And if it comes to society, it seems to me I’m a good deal more use to it here than I’d be in a State’s prison pegging shoes, and my poor wife—” He choked; but there was no softening of the saturnine gloom of Wickliff’s face. “You ought to tell that all to the lawyer, not to me,” said Wickliff. “I’m only a special officer, and my duty is to my employer, not to society. What’s more, I am going to perform it. There isn’t anything that can make it right for me to balk on my duty, no matter how sorry I feel for you. No, Mr. Harned, if you live and I live, you go back to Iowa with me.” [Illustration: “HARNED HID HIS FACE”] Harned in utter silence studied the impassive face, and it returned his gaze; then he threw his arm up against the shed, and hid his own face in the crook of his elbow. His shoulders worked as in a strong shudder, but almost at once they were still, and when he turned his features were blank and steady as the boards behind them. “I’ve just one favor to ask,” said he; “don’t tell my wife. You have got to stay here to-night; it will be more comfortable for you, if I don’t say anything till after you’ve gone to bed. Give me a chance to explain and say good-bye. It will be hard enough for her—” “Will you give me your parole you won’t try to escape?” “Yes, sir.” “Nor kill yourself?” Harned started violently, and he laughed. “Do you think I’d kill myself before poor Maggie? I wouldn’t be so mean. No, I promise you I won’t either run away or kill myself or play any kind of trick on you to-night. Does it go?” “It goes,” responded Amos, holding out his hand; “and I’ll give you a good reputation in court, too, for being a good citizen now. That will have weight with the judge. And if you care to know it, I’m mighty sorry for you.” “Thank you, Mr. Wickliff,” said Harned; but he had not seemed to see the hand; he was striding ahead. “That man means to kill himself,” thought Amos; “he’s too blamed resigned. He’s got it all planned before. And God help the poor beggar! I guess it’s the best thing he can do for himself. Lord, but it’s hard sometimes for a man to do his duty!”