# Good Men and True; and, Hit the Line Hard/Good Men and True/Chapter 7
### Chapter VII

"And when 'e downs 'is 'ead and 'umps is back, ye cawn't remain, y' know!"
—Beresford on the Bronco.
MY iron-headed friend," said the Judge—"and I use the word in more senses than one—you have now had ample time for deliberation. I have given you the opportunity to choose—life——"
No menace, no violence, could have left an impression so strong, so dreadful in its finality, as this brief ellipsis, the casual, light-hearted manner.
"——at no slight risk to myself. Because, the admiration, the liking which I have professed to you is real and sincere enough, though, perhaps, none of the deepest. I will be quite frank with you, Mr. Bransford; that liking, that admiration has grown with our acquaintance. A weakness; I admit it; it would be with a real regret that I should speak the word to cut that acquaintance short. I will be so much further frank with you as to say that I fancy I can sufficiently steel myself to speak that word should you again refuse good counsel. This may be the last of our pleasant meetings. For the last time, in the words of your favorite writer: 'Under which king, Bezonian? Speak, or die!’"
Jeff's hands gripped visibly at his chair-arms, so that the Judge observed it—as was intended—and smiled. But Jeff gave his answer quietly: "I can't do it. If you had killed Tillotson outright I might, to save my life, keep silence and let you go unpunished. But I can't do this."
"You mean you won't," said the Judge acidly.
"I mean that I can't," said Jeff. "I would if I could, but I can't."
"By Heavens, I believe you will stick to it!" said the Judge, greatly disappointed. "Had you couched your refusal in some swelling phrase—and I can think of a dozen sonorous platitudes to fit the case—I might yet have hopes of you. I believe, sir, that you are a stubborn fellow. The man is nothing to you!"
"The man is much to me," returned Jeff. "He is innocent."
"So, I believe, are you. How will it help him for you to die? And so obscurely, too! I think," said the Judge gently, flicking at his cuff, "that you mentioned a wife? Yes? And children? Two, I think. Two boys?"
His elbows were upon the table, his white hands were extended upon the table, he held his head a little to one side and contemplated his fingers as they played a little tune there, quite as if it were a piano.
Jeff's face worked; he rose and paced the floor. Mac, by the door, regarded him with something very like compassion in his hard face. The Judge watched him with feline amusement.
When he came back he passed by his chair; he stood beside the table, resting his fingers lightly on the typewriter frame. "Life is dear to me," he said, with a slight break in his voice. "I will make this one concession. More I will not do. Tillotson's trial is half over; the verdict is certain; there are powerful influences at work to insure the denial of an appeal and to hasten his execution. If you can keep me here until after his execution I will then—to save my life, for my wife's sake, for my children's sake—keep silence. And may God forgive me for a compromiser and a coward!" he added with a groan. "But if, before that, I can make my escape; if, before that, I can in any way communicate with the outside world, I will denounce you, at any cost to myself."
The Judge would have spoken, but Jeff held up his hand. "Wait! I have listened to you—listen now to me. You have forgotten that there are two sides to every bargain. You sit directly between me and Mac, your hands are upon the table, your feet are beneath the table, the typewriter is at my hand. Do not move! If Mac stirs but an inch, if you dare raise a finger, until you have agreed to my proposition, by the God that made me, I will crush your skull like an egg!"
"Had ye wrung his neck off-hand, as I urgit upon ye frae the first——" The words came bitterly from Mac, sitting rigid in his corner—"this wadna have chancit." His tones conveyed a singular mixture of melancholy and triumph; the thickening of his Scotch burr betrayed his agitation. "Be guidit by me noo at the last, Judge, and tak the daft body's terms. In my opeenion the project of smashin' your head wi' the machine is enteerly pract'ecable, and I think Mr. Bransford will e'en do it. Why should he no? A dead man has naught to fear. My gude word is, mak treaty wi' him and save your——"
"Neck. For this time," hinted Jeff delicately.
The Judge did not shrink, he did not pale; but neither did he move. "And your presentiment that you would see me hanged? You have abandoned that, it seems?"
"Not at all, not at all," said Jeff, cheerily. "You are going to do just what I propose. You'd rather take the chance of having your neck broken legally than the certainty that I'll break it now."
"With that thing? Humph! You couldn't hurt me much with that. I think I could get up and away before you could hit me with it. And Mac would certainly shoot you before you could hit me a second time."
"Once will be a-plenty." Bransford laughed. "You go first, I beseech you, my dear Alphonse! O no, Judge—you don't think anything of the kind. If you did you'd try it. Your legs—limbs, I mean of course—are too far under the table. And I've been practising for speed with this machine every day. What Mac does to me afterward won't help you any. You'll be done dead, damned and delivered. If he could shoot me now without shooting through you, it would be a different proposition. Your mistake was in ever letting me line you up. 'Tit, tat, toe—Three in a row!' Well, what are you going to do about it?"
"Oh, man, ye chargit me streectly to keep this wild cat-a-mountain at his distance," interrupted Mac in mournful reproach, "and then pop ye down cheek by jowl wi' the deil's buckie your ainsel'. I'd as lief seat me to sup wi' the black devil and his muckle pitchfork!"
As often happens in such cases, the man who was in no immediate danger was more agitated than the one imperiled; who, after a moment's reflection, looked up at Bransford with a smile in his eyes.
"And how am I to know you will not denounce me if I let you go after this unfortunate Tillotson is hanged?" he demanded. "Or, for that matter, how are you to know that I will not kill you as soon as I am beyond the reach of your extremely novel weapon—which, I grant you, might be effective at such close quarters and in such capable hands—or that I will not have you killed at any time hereafter? This," said the Judge, picking his words leisurely and contemplating his fine fingers with unreserved approval, "is the crux of the very interesting situation. Rigid moralists, scrutinizing the varied actions of my life, might find passages not altogether blameless. But I have always held and maintained that a man should keep faith where it is expressly pledged. This is the bedrock upon which is based all relations of man with man, and to no class is it so needful as to those who are at variance with society. If a man will not hold by his plighted word, even to his hurt, he has lost all contact with reality and is become henceforth no actuality, but a vain and empty simulacrum, not to be dealt with, useless either for good or evil. Here, for instance, are we, two intelligent men, confronting mutual instant annihilation; which might be avoided could each be perfectly sure the other would keep his word! It is quite amusing!"
"I will take your word if you will take mine," said Jeff. "You should know who runs the greater risk. But I have a stipulation to make."
The Judge arched his brows. "A stipulation? Another? My volatile and resourceful friend, do not ask too much. It is by no means certain that your extraordinary missile—or was it to be a war-club?—might not fail of the desired effect. You have already stipulated for your life, and I think," said the Judge dryly, "that if you have any other demand to make, it had best be a modest one."
"I do not choose," said Jeff steadily, "that my wife shall suffer needless anxiety—unneeded if you set me free at last. Still less do I choose, if I meet with foul play at your hands, or if I should be killed attempting an escape, to have her haunted by any doubt of me. I shall write to her that I am in Old Mexico, in some part known to be dangerous, tempted by high pay. You will send it to be mailed down there. Then, if I do not come back, she will think of me as honorably dead, and be at peace."
It came into the Judge's active mind that such a letter—dated and signed from some far-off Mexican town—might, in some contingencies, be useful to him; his bold, blue eyes, which had faced an imminent death firmly enough, dropped now to hide the treacherous thought. And upon this thought, and its influence upon sending the letter, Jeff had counted from the first.
"There are other reasons," said Jeff. "You have been pleased to speak well of me. You have boasted, both for yourself and for me, enough and more than enough. Let me now boast for myself. Has it never occurred to you that such a man as I am would have friends—formidable friends? That they are wondering what has become of me? If you agree to my arrangement, I have a chance of saving both my life and some shreds of decency. I do not now want my friends to come in search of me and get me killed in trying to rescue me—for you will, of course, redouble your precautions after this. This letter will put my friends at ease. I will have to trust you to mail it. That is the weakness of my position. But I will think that there is a chance that you will mail it—and that chance will help me to keep a quiet mind. That much, at least, will be a clear gain. Do this, and I will yield a point to you. If you would rather I didn't, I will not go to see you hanged!"
The amazing effrontery of this last coaxing touch so appealed to Judge Thorpe's sense of humor that he quite recovered his good nature. "My dear boy," he said, "if I should ever be hanged, I wouldn't miss having you there for worlds. It would add a zest to the occasion that I should grieve to lose. I will agree unconditionally to your proposed modus vivendi. As I understand it, if I can hang Tillotson you are to keep silence and go free. But if you can contrive to get me hanged you are to attend the festivity in person? It is a wager. Write your letter and I'll mail it. Of course, I'll have to read it and edit it if needed. And say—Bransford! I'll mail it, too! You can be at rest on that point. In the meantime, I presume, I may move without bringing the typewriter about my ears?"
"You may," said Jeff. "It's a bet. I wish you'd wait and I'll write the letter now. She'll be anxious about me. It'll take some time. I always write her long letters. Let me have your fountain-pen, will you?"
"Why don't you use your typewriter?" said the Judge. "And, by the way, I fear we shall have to deprive you of your typewriter in the future."
"A typewritten letter wouldn't be consistent at all," said Jeff. "I am supposed to be writing from darkest Old Mexico. No typewriters there. Besides, I can't write with the damn thing to do any good. Say, don't take it away from me, Judge; there's a good fellow. I want to master it. I do hate to be beaten."
"The elasticity with which you adjust yourself to changing conditions is beyond all praise," said the Judge, smiling. "Like the other Judge, in the Bible, I yield to importunity. I can deny you nothing. Keep your typewriter, then, with the express understanding that its use as a deadly weapon is barred. Here's the pen."