The old farmer of "Lonesome Hill" would listen no more.

"Then wait, John. This letter may at least save you from jail--and you
haven't any money; will this do?"

"It's more than I need, Judge."

"No, keep it all--and keep your temper too."

As the Judge stood in the doorway, watching the venerable figure disappear
in the drizzling night, a young woman from the dining-room stole
to his side and heard him muse: "After all, who knows? A Briton
clad in skins once humbled a Roman emperor."

"Is he in trouble?" she asked.

"Yes, great trouble, and it isn't his fault. Fate's a poor shot. She never
strikes one who is guilty without wounding two who are innocent."

* * * * *

Dale was an admirable volunteer and strangely resourceful; he had
something more than courage.

The train did not leave for two hours. He sat in the station till the
clatter of the telegraph drove him out, when he walked toward the
yards with their colored lights, and through his brain raced Speculation's
myriad fiends, all brandishing lanterns like those before him. When,
at last, the train did start, it seemed to roll slowly, though it could