a
look at Job. Up at the ranch, Andrew Malden neither ate nor slept. A
terrible nightmare hung over him. His boy was innocent, of course he
was. But oh, it was awful! The saloons were crowded, and a furtive
chuckle passed around the bars. He was caged now, the one they hated,
and the evil element were in high glee. O'Donnell and Dan Dean, Col.
Dick and the sheriff, were the center of crowds who hung on their
words, as they told the story of the crime over and over with a new
force and new aspect that showed the utter hypocrisy, treachery and
sin of Job.

The church was crowded. The preacher could not believe Job guilty, but
he dared not say so. Tom Reed, wild with grief, pleaded with men to
break open the jail and let him slay the murderer, slay him and avenge
his Jane--his black-eyed, great-hearted Jane. The city reporters were
busy, and the papers glowed with accounts and photographs of "the
awful wretch who was safely held behind the bars of the Gold City
jail." So the storm surged to and fro, so the days passed, to that
dark ninth of August when the trial was to begin.

Of all the throng of men in the mountains in those days, he alone who
sat in the silence of a dungeon in the old court house, was unmoved
and at peace. Through the long hours he sat recalling memories of past
years, living again the scenes of yesterday, which seemed to belong to
another world and another life now gone forever. From his pocket he
drew again and again the little Testament still fragrant with a
mother's dying kiss, and felt himself as much a homeless, motherless
boy as upon that long-ago night when he first saw Gold City and fell
asleep on the "Palace" doorsteps. He read it over and over. It was of
Gethsemane, the Last Supper and Calvary he read most. He knew now what
they meant. Then he turned to the words, "What shall separate us from
the love of God?" and the consciousness that God was left, that Jesus
was his, was like a mighty arm bearing him up.

They asked him for his defense. He said he had none, except the fact
that he knew nothing about the deed. They scorned that, and asked whom
he wished for a lawyer. He had no choice--cared for none. The judge
sent him a young infidel attorney, the sheriff refused him the
privilege of seeing anyone, the iron gate was double-barred, and
closer and closer the web of evidence was drawn about him ready for
the day of the trial.

He asked for Andrew Malden, but was refused. He begged them t