of things won't speak for him in the end.' Then he turns and looks at
Malachi, and Malachi was standin' still and steady like a tree, but his
face was white, and sweat poured on his forehead. 'If God has no voice to
be heard for my client in this court-room to-day, is there no one on
earth--no man or woman--who can speak for one who won't speak for
himself?' says Freddy Tarlton here. Then, by gol! for the first time
Malachi opened. 'There's no one,' he says. 'The speakin' is all for the
sheriff. But I spoke once, and the sheriff didn't answer.' Not a bit of
beg-yer-pardon in it. It struck cold. 'I leave his case in the hands of
twelve true men,' says Freddy Tarlton here, and he sits down."

"So they said he must walk the air?" suggested Pierre.

"Without leavin' their seats," someone added instantly.

"So. But that speech of 'Freddy Tarlton here'?" "It was worth twelve
drinks to me, no more, and nothing at all to Malachi," said Tarlton.
"When I said I'd come to him to-night to cheer him up, he said he'd
rather sleep. The missionary, too, he can make nothing of him. 'I don't
need anyone here,' he says. 'I eat this off my own plate.' And that's the
end of Malachi."

"Because there was no one to speak for him--eh? Well, well."

"If he'd said anything that'd justify the thing--make it a manslaughter
business or a quarrel--then! But no, not a word, up or down, high or low.
Exit Malachi!" rejoined Freddy Tarlton sorrowfully. "I wish he'd given me
half a chance."

"I wish I'd been there," said Pierre, taking a match from Gohawk, and