had brought
him to the Great Spirit, who took the hate all out of his heart. On he
talked, till Job's every statement was corroborated, till a revulsion
of feeling swept over the multitude, till they saw it all vividly:
that it was the earthquake--it was God, not man, who had called Jane
Reed from this world; that the prisoner was as innocent as the baby
yonder prattling in its mother's arms.

Dan slunk out of the door, Tom Reed sat in silent awe, Tim's father
was in tears, Tony shouted, "Bress de Lawd!" And only Job said never a
word, as the judge, disregarding all precedent, dismissed the case.
The great trial of "The State vs. Job Malden" was ended.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

IN JANUARY AND MAY TIME.

The leaves on the mountain maples turned early that fall. The touch of
bitter frost brought forth their rarest colors. The snowflakes
fluttered down before November was past; fluttered down and softly
covered the furrows and brown earth with a mantle of white.

So the days of that autumn came to Job Malden. The beauty begotten of
pain crept into his face. The mantle of silence and peace hid deep the
scars of grief. He never talked of the past--no man ever dared broach
it. The children at their play in the twilight stopped and huddled
close as they saw a dark form climb the graveyard hill, and wondered
who it could be. Yet he did not live apart from the world. Never had
Gold City seen more of him; never did children love a playmate so much
as he who took them all into his heart. Yet he was not of them--all
felt it, all saw it. He was with them, not of them. Up higher in soul
he had climbed than the world of Gold City could go. He came down to
them often, and unconsciously they poured their sorrows at his feet,
and he comforted them; but when he went back into the secret holy
place of his soul, no man dared follow.

Up at the old ranch, the gray-haired, feeble owner sat by the fire
watching the crackling logs and the flames; sat and thought of the
years that were gone. Visions of childhood mingled with visions of
heaven; the murmur of voices long silent with the words, as Job read
them aloud: "In my Father's house are many mansions. I go to prepare
a place for you." Tony still sang at his chores, Hans was still at the
barn, Bess still neighed in the stable, Shot still barked at the door.
But the old home could never be quite the same to the brave, manly
fellow who strode in and out across its threshold.

It was N