n; but in any event this was no civil suit now in progress. We
were not here to assess value upon a supposititious pig, injured in a
supposititious manner, and not represented here of counsel. No law had
been violated. Why, then, his client had been thus ruthlessly dragged
into court, to his great personal chagrin, his loss of time, his mental
suffering, the attorney for defence could not say. It was injustice of
a monstrous sort! Prosecution might well feel relieved if no
retaliatory action were later taken against them for false
imprisonment. This innocent young man must at once be discharged from
custody.

When Dan Anderson sat down there was not a man in the jury who was not
bathed in perspiration. Abstruse thought was hard at work. Blackman,
J. P., perspiring no less than any member of the jury, drew himself up,
but he was troubled.

"Evidence f'r the State," the Judge finally managed to stammer, turning
to the attorney for the prosecution.

But it never came so far along as that. There was a sound of many
footsteps; voices came murmuring, growing louder. The door was pushed
open from without, and in came much of the remaining population of
Heart's Desire, so far as it could gain room. The man from Leavenworth
was there, his whiskers wagging unintelligibly. McKinney was there,
and Doc Tomlinson and Tom Osby, and everybody else; and, pushing
through the crowd, there came the Littlest Girl from Kansas, her apron
awry, her hair blown, her face flushed, her eyes moist with tears.

"Curly!" cried she as at last her eyes caught sight of him. "Come
right on out of here, this minute! Come along!"

What would you have? The Law is the Law; but there are such things as
supreme courts. It was useless for Blackman, J. P., to rap and call
for order. It had probably been useless for any man to undertake to
stop the prisoner at the bar, thus adjured. At any rate he arose and
said politely to the jurors, "Fellers, I got to go"--and so went, no
man raising hand to restrain him.

As to Dan Anderson, he himself admitted his wish that the case had gone
on. "I wanted to cross-examine," said he.

That night, over by the _arroyo_, we met Curly and the Littlest Girl
walking in the moonlight. Curly was quiet. The Littlest Girl was
tremulous, content. Curly, pausing as we approached, mumbled some
shamefaced thanks.

"Curly," said Dan Anderson, his voice queer, "I didn't do it for pay.
I did it--I don't know wh