# Good Men and True; and, Hit the Line Hard/Good Men and True/Chapter 5
### Chapter V

"Quoth Robin, 'I dwell by dale and down
By thee I set right naught."
—Guy of Gisborne.
"I PERCEIVE," said the Judge, surveying the tempting viands, "that Mac has thoughtfully cut your meat for you. You are provided with many spoons, but neither knife nor fork. A wise and wholesome precaution, I may remark. After your recent exploit we stand quite in awe of you. Pray be seated. I will take a cup of coffee with you—if you will allow me?
"It will not have escaped a man of your penetration that an obvious course was open to me. But your gallantry had quite won my heart, and I refrained from that obvious course, though strongly urged to it. Mac, tell Mr. Bransford what your advice was."
"I said: 'Dead men tell no tales!’" replied Mac sturdily. "And I say it again. Yon is a fearsome man."
"You are a dangerous man yourself, Mac. Yet I trust you. And why? Because," said the Judge cooingly, "I am more dangerous still—leader by right of the strongest. I admire you, Mr. Bransford; I needed such a man as you seem to be. Moreover, singular as it may seem, I boggled at cutting you off in cold blood. I have as good a heart as can be made out of brains. You had not intentionally harmed me; I bore you no grudge; it seemed a pity. I decided to give you a chance. I refused this advice. If you but knew it, Mr. Bransford, you owe me a heavy debt of gratitude. So we brought you across quite unostentatiously. That brings us up to date.
"You see the logic of the situation, my fellow? Your silence must be insured. Either you must throw in your lot with us, commit yourself entirely and irrevocably to us, or suffer the consequences of—shall we say, your indiscretion?"
The Judge sipped his coffee daintily. "It is distressing even to mention the alternative; it is needless to lay undue emphasis upon it; circumstances have already done that. You see for yourself that it must be thus, and not otherwise."
Jeff took a toothpick, pushed his chair back and crossed his legs comfortably. "I must have time to consider the matter and look at it from all sides," he said meditatively. "But I can tell you now how it strikes me at first blush. Do you believe in presentiments, Judge?"
The Judge shook his head. "I am singularly free from all superstition."
"Now, I do," said Jeff steadily, his face wearing as engaging an expression as its damaged condition would permit. "And I have a very strong presentiment that I shall see you hung, or perhaps I should say, hanged."
The Judge went off in another peal of laughter. Even the saturnine Mac relaxed to a grim smile. The Judge pounded on the table. "But what a droll dog it is!" he cried. "Positively, I like you better every moment. Such high spirits! Such hardihood! Really, we need you, we must have you. I cannot imagine any one better fitted to fill the place of the departed brother whom you—as the instrument of an inscrutable and all-wise Providence—have removed from our midst."
At this disloyalty to the dead, Jeff's gorge rose at the man; treacherous, heartless, revolting. But he kept a tranquil, untroubled face. The Judge went on: "Your resolution may change. You will suffer from ennui. I may mention that, should you join us, the pecuniary reward will be great. I am wealthy and powerful, and our little organization—informal, but very select—shares my fortunes. They push me up from below and I pull them up from above. I will add that we seldom find it necessary to resort to such extreme measures as we did in the Tillotson case. He was a very trouble some man; he has been a thorn in my side for years.
"On the contrary, we conduct many open and perfectly-legitimate enterprises, political, legal, financial. We are interested in mining propositions; we have cattle ranches in Texas and Old Mexico; we handle real estate. As side lines, we do a miscellaneous business—smuggle a vast amount of opium and a few Chinamen, keep sanctuary for unhappy fugitives, jump good mines and sell poor ones, furnish or remove witnesses—Oh, many things! But, perhaps, our greatest activity is simply to exert moral pressure in aid of our strictly-legitimate enterprises.
"Tut, tut! I have been so charmed that I have overstayed my time. Think this matter over carefully, my dear fellow. There is much to gain or to lose. You shall have ample time for consideration. Mac and Borrowman will get you anything you want, within the bounds of reason—clothes, books, tobacco, such knickknacks. And, by the way, here are yesterday's papers. You may care to read the Tillotson case. The editorials, both those that condemn him and those that defend, are particularly amusing."
"Mac and Borrowman are to be my jailers?" said Jeff.
The Judge raised his hands in expostulation. "Jailers?" he repeated. "What a harsh term! Let us say, companions. You might break out of jail," said the Judge, tapping Jeff's breast with his strong fingers, "but you will not get away from me. They will tell you their instructions. I will attend to your hurts, now, and then I must go."
"I would like clean clothes," said Jeff, while the Judge dressed his wounds skilfully. "A safety razor—they can keep it when I'm not using it—the daily papers, cigars, tobacco—let me see, what else? Oh, yes—I was trying to learn the typewriter. I'd like to try it again when my finger gets better. For books, send in Shakspere's works and Carlyle's 'French Revolution,' for the present."
"You're quite sure that's all?" said the Judge, entertained and delighted. "You must intend to take your time about making up your mind."
"My mind is entirely made up now. I would insure you against a watery death," said Jeff with utmost calmness, "for a dime!"
"We shall see, we shall see!" said the Judge skeptically. "Time works many wonders. You will be ennuied! I prophesy it. Besides, I count upon your gratitude. Good-night!"
"Good-night!"
So you "brought me unostentatiously across," did you? You made a slip that time. You talk well, Judge, but you talk too much. Across? Across the Rio Grande. I am in Juarez. I had already guessed it, for I hear the sounds of many whistling engines from far off, and but few from near at hand. My prison is underground, since those whistles are the only sounds that reach me, and they muffled and indistinct; coming by the fireplace. That chimney goes through a house above, since they keep up a fire. What to do?
Through the long hours he lay on his bed, sleepless. When he opened his eyes, at intervals, it was always to find the guard's face toward him, watching him intently. They were taking no chances.
His vigorous brain was busy with the possibilities; contriving, hopeless as the situation might seem, more than one scheme, feasible only to desperation, and with terrible odds against success. These he put by to be used only as a last recourse, and fell to his Sisyphean task again with such concentration of all his powers upon the work in hand as few men have ever dreadful need to attain—such focused concentration that, had his mind been an actual searchlight, capable, in its turning, to throw a shining circle upon actual, living, moving men, in all places, far or near, in time past, present or to come—where it paused, the places, men and events could not have been more real, more clear, more brightly illumined. When this inner light wearied and grew faint he turned it back till it pierced the thick walls to another prison, dwelt on another prisoner there: a tall, gray figure, whose face was turned away; ringed round with hate, with ignominy, shame despair and death; not friendless. And the light rose again, strong and unwavering, ranging the earth for what help was there; so fell at last upon a plan, not after to be altered. A rough plan only—the details to be worked out—to-morrow and to-morrow. So thinking, utter exhaustion came upon him and he fell asleep.