spirits, like as
if he's lift himself over the fence with his bootstraps. So when Malachi
come and saw the sheriff steppin' round in his paten' leathers, it
give him the needle, and he got a bead on him--and away went Sheriff
Fargo--right away! That seems to be the sense of the public.' And he
stops again, soft and quick, and looks the twelve in the eyes at once.
'But,' says Freddy Tarlton here, 'are you goin' to hang a man on the
little you know? Or are you goin' to credit him with somethin' of what
you don't know? You haint got the inside of this thing, and Malachi
doesn't let you know it, and God keeps quiet. But be danged well sure
that you've got the bulge on iniquity here; for gen'lemen with pistols
out in the street is one thing, and sittin' weavin' a rope in a
court-room for a man's neck is another thing,' says Freddy Tarlton here.
'My client has refused to say one word this or that way, but don't be
sure that Some One that knows the inside 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