e it, for it come like a thief at midnight an' agin
like a pesterlence it wasted 'em at noonday. They separated--they
tried to fly--they hid--but I followed 'em 'an I got all but one. He
fled to California."

"It was awful, Jack--awful--God he'p you."

"Then a price was put on my head. I was Jack Bracken, the spy and the
outlaw. I was not to be captured, but shot and hung. Then I cut down
that Yankee an' you all turned agin me. I was hunted and hounded. I
shot--they shot. I killed an' they tried to. I was shot down three
times. I've got bullets in me now.

"After the war I tried to surrender. I wanted to quit and live a
decent life. But no, they put a bigger price on my head. I came home
like other soldiers an' went to tillin' my farm. They ran me
away--they hunted an' hounded me. Civilization turned ag'in me.
Society was my foe. I was up ag'in the fust law of Nature. It is the
law of the survival--the wild beast that, cowered, fights for his
life. Society turned on me--I turned on Society."

"But there was one thing that happen'd that put the steel in me wuss
than all. All through them times was one star I loved and hoped for.
I was to marry her when the war closed. She an' her sister--the
pretty one--they lived up yander on the mountain side. The pretty one
died. But when I lost faith in Margaret Adams, I lost it in mankind.
I'd ruther a seen her dead. It staggered me--killed the soul in
me--to think that an angel like her could fall an' be false."

"I don't blame you," said the old man. "I've never understood it
yet."

"I was to marry Margaret. I love her yet," he added simply. "When I
found she was false I went out--and--well, you know the rest."

He took a turn around the room, picked up one of little Jack's shoes,
and cried over it.

"So I married his mother--little Jack's mother, a mountain lass that
hid me and befriended me. She died when the boy was born. His granny
kep' him while I was on my raids--nobody knowed it was my son. His
granny died two years ago. This has been our home ever sence, an' not
once, sence little Jack has been with me, have I done a wrong deed.
Often an' often we've slipt up to hear you preach--what you've said
went home to me."

"Jack," said the old man suddenly aroused--"was that you--was it you
been puttin' them twenty dollar gol' pieces in the church
Bible--between the leds, _ever'_ month for the las' two years? By it
I've kep' up the po' of Cottontown. I've puzzled an' wo