with more latitude of defense than his reckless hardihood seemed to
ask. The Judge appeared to be more anxious than the prisoner, who,
otherwise unconcerned, evidently took a grim pleasure in the
responsibility he had created. "I don't take any hand in this yer
game," had been his invariable but good-humored reply to all
questions. The Judge--who was also his captor--for a moment vaguely
regretted that he had not shot him "on sight" that morning, but
presently dismissed this human weakness as unworthy of the judicial
mind. Nevertheless, when there was a tap at the door, and it was said
that Tennessee's Partner was there on behalf of the prisoner, he was
admitted at once without question. Perhaps the younger members of the
jury, to whom the proceedings were becoming irksomely thoughtful,
hailed him as a relief.

For he was not, certainly, an imposing figure. Short and stout, with a
square face, sunburned into a preternatural redness, clad in a loose
duck "jumper" and trousers streaked and splashed with red soil, his
aspect under any circumstances would have been quaint, and was now
even ridiculous. As he stooped to deposit at his feet a heavy
carpetbag he was carrying, it became obvious, from partially developed
legends and inscriptions, that the material with which his trousers
had been patched had been originally intended for a less ambitious
covering. Yet he advanced with great gravity, and after shaking the
hand of each person in the room with labored cordiality, he wiped his
serious perplexed face on a red bandana handkerchief, a shade lighter
than his complexion, laid his powerful hand upon the table to steady
himself, and thus addressed the Judge:--

"I was passin' by," he began, by way of apology, "and I thought I'd
just step in and see how things was gittin' on with Tennessee thar,--