a right to do what he pleases with his own money; but . . .
but . . . well, the girl worked hard for that little old two hundred.
God Almighty! I was drunk! You don't s'pose I'd do such a thing
sober?" turning to us, savage. "That ain't no excuse, howsomever," he
goes on, droppin' his crop. "Comes to the point when there's nothin'
left, and then I get a letter." He begun taking things out of his
pockets, dropping 'em from his big tremblin' hands. "It's somewheres
here--ain't that it? My eyes is no good."

He hands me a letter, addressed to Martin Hazel, in a woman's writing.
"Well, that druv me crazy. So help me God, sir, I ain't pleadin' for
no mercy--I'll take my medicine--but I didn't know no more what I was
doin' when I jumped your horse than nothin'. I only wanted to get away
from everybody. I was crazy. You read 'em that letter," says he,
taking hold of me. "See if it wouldn't drive any man crazy."

Now, there's no good repeatin' the letter. It wasn't written for an
audience, and the spellin' was accordin' to the lady's own views, but
it was all about how happy they was going to be when Martin had things
fixed up, and how funny the little boy was, and just like his pa, and,
oh, couldn't he fix it so's they'd be with him soon, for her heart was
near broke with waiting.

There was sand in my eyes before I'd read long, and that crowd of
fierce lynchers was lookin' industriously upon the ground. One man
chawed away on his baccy, like there'd be an earthquake if he stopped,
and another lad, with a match in his mouth, scratched a cigarette on
his leg, shieldin' it careful with his hands, and your Uncle Willy
tried to fill a straight face on a four-card draw, and to talk in a
tone of voice I wasn't ashamed of hearing.

During the last part of the letter the prisoner stood thoughtful, with
the back of his hand to his mouth; you'd never known he was settin' his
teeth into it, if it wasn't for the blood dropping from his thumb.

"The prisoner will retire," says I, with the remnants of my
self-respect, "while the court passes sentence. Go sit down under the
tree yonder." He shambled off. Soon's he was out of hearin' the
feller that lost the horse jumps up into the air with an oath like a
streak of lightning. "Here's a fine play we come near makin' by bein'
so sudden," says he. "I wouldn't have that man's death on my soul for
the whole territory--think of that poor woman! And he's paid the
freight. C