“You know I’m not yet governor of New York,” Roosevelt reminded her. “I have no legal right to do anything about any case, especially one that has been already settled in the courts and the defendant convicted. What possible defense could your son have for shooting an unarmed man in the back? Didn’t he testify in his own defense?” “He swore he thought that feller—Morgan Tuttle was his name—was going after his gun and Ollie knowed Morgan was a dead shot. He could have killed Ollie from a hundred yards off and Ollie knowed it. They was huntin’ together up in the mountains.” “That was what the fight was about,” put in Clint. “Deer they shot up in them hills. Morgan wasn’t going to divide fair.” “Was that the legal season to kill a deer?” Roosevelt asked. “I thought they were protected by law.” “No, it wasn’t, but it come out in the trial anyway because Morgan’s wife blabbed to the law,” Clint supplied. “We ain’t paid Ollie’s lawyer yet but he didn’t do nothin’ nohow.” “There was little he could do in the face of the evidence,” said Roosevelt. “He said that,” she admitted, “and he said he aimed to charge us a hundred dollars when he didn’t do nothing.” “Did he make you any promises?” “No, sir, he wouldn’t do that. He just said he’d do his best but he didn’t do nothin’,” insisted Clint. “It’s hard to justify any man who shoots another in the back, even if he has a weapon handy,” argued Roosevelt. “After all Ollie could have run. He didn’t have to stand still and let the other man shoot at him.” “That’s what the judge said,” Clint added. “My men wasn’t never no hand to run away from trouble,” remarked Mrs. Witten. “They always faced up to trouble mighty bold.” “It’s not being bold to shoot a man in the back,” commented the hero of San Juan Hill, letting a little twinge of guilty memory come over him briefly. How many men of the Spanish troops had he shot in the back in Cuba? But that was war. The enemy had had the same chance to get him from the rear and he had known it. As Ollie had had the chance to run, so had the soldiers of Spain the chance to surrender but no man liked the thought of killing a human being and soldiers had to be hardened before they could do it, except in desperation to save their own lives. Only the toughest ones had no qualms, and it was ironic that usually they made the best infantry troops. He had had a few timorous and squeamish fellows in his Rough Riders but when the fighting got hot they forgot their scruples and came through gallantly. He sent the two Wittens away finally, promising to look into the case of Ollie Witten further when he came into office: “I assume you want an official pardon for your son? There is nothing else that can be done when a man is already serving his sentence except a parole. And with Ollie’s record of violence I doubt that could be attained. A pardon on a hardship plea would be your only hope.” “He got life like Pa,” Clint said, “and they told us he was mighty lucky.”