"They're a-building him a monument," said Ham Sandwich, with the air of a
person who had contributed to it, and knew.

"James Walker" drew a deep sigh--evidently a sigh of relief--and said
nothing; but his eyes lost something of their wildness, his countenance
cleared visibly, and its drawn look relaxed a little. We all went to our
cabin, and the boys cooked him the best dinner the camp could furnish the
materials for, and while they were about it Hillyer and I outfitted him
from hat to shoe-leather with new clothes of ours, and made a comely and
presentable old gentleman of him. "Old" is the right word, and a pity,
too: old by the droop of him, and the frost upon his hair, and the marks
which sorrow and distress have left upon his face; though he is only in
his prime in the matter of years. While he ate, we smoked and chatted;
and when he was finishing he found his voice at last, and of his own
accord broke out with his personal history. I cannot furnish his exact
words, but I will come as near it as I can.


THE "WRONG MAN'S" STORY

It happened like this: I was in Denver. I had been there many years;
sometimes I remember how many, sometimes I don't--but it isn't any
matter. All of a sudden I got a notice to leave, or I would be exposed
for a horrible crime committed long before--years and years before--in
the East.

I knew about that crime, but I was not the criminal; it was a cousin of
mine of the same name. What should I better do? My head was all
disordered by fear, and I didn't know. I was allowed very little time
--only one day, I think it was. I would be ruined if I was published,