The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1895-05-16

not be helped Perhaps the fellow did
not do the deed But then he was quite
capable of doing it. Besides, he is only
a poor wretch, while they are all COM
| Portable farmers, in easy circumstances.
Justice above all things
/ In vain does the poor wretch protest
his innocence. The evening before he
was ailing-a wrench he got in telling
tree. He had been on his bed, without
stirring, all day. They could make in
quiries. They would see that he had not
been out of his house. All in vain does
he throw himself at their feet, his voice
choked with anguish and fear All in
vain does he invoke their pity. What
is to become of his children if he is to
die? His wife will never equal the task
of providing for them.
No one answers. Pegolan, in his cor
ner sits in cold perspiration, fearing
some change in opinion, some sudden
relenting But the others are only too
happy to have come to some conclusion.
They ask but one thing now, to be
speedily rid of this man who means
before them, tearing his hair, and re-
preaching them for their ferocious
egotism, their monstrous cruelty
/
beyond it rises a forest of bayonets fill
| ing the small square, and nearer to the
threshold the group of men charged
with the execution have gathered, and
the fatal instrument of death shines
again in the warm white light of the
moon.
| And II o'clock strikes.
| There is a cry broken by detona-
| ton, and the smoke clearing away the
| body of the woodcutter and poacher is
seen lying on the steps Of the church,
and stiffening there, while one by one
those men pass out beside it, the blood
staining the souls of their feet. And
the Prussian officers, with looks of
speechless contempt, turn away revolt
ed.
Jean Pegolan has gained his own
abode once more.
Heavens But it is pleasant to be safe
at home again after such an adventure!
The chickens are clucking, and scratch
ing about in the barnyard, the pigeons
are cooling on the roof, the ducks are
Waddling around a tiny pond that
shines softly in the sum- from the
stable, where the PruSSianS have not
entered, comes the mellow lowing Of the
mich COWS, and the gray's strident
neighing forms a response. Sheaves of
wheat are piled up with golden luxuri-
ance, in the coach house, and the hay
in stacks, shows at all the windows of
the loft.
The farmer shakes himself; his clothes
are still moist with perspiration He
enters the house and sees his wife in
tears on her knees beside the bed She
starts up at the sound of his step and
stands before him, white as spectre.
"Whatr' in a shrill voice. You are
not dead? 2"
Pegolan, stunned by this singular re-
ception, stares mutely.
"It was you who killed the Prussian
at Green Cross! Don't deny it! saw
the blood on your blouse this morn
ing.
'Sh'-sh! It's true-but-don't de-
nounce me, for PHYS sake!''
"Ah!'' cried the woman with mutter-
able disgust. you needn't be afraid
now! You know it's too late, and you
have allowed another man to be shot
in your placer"
'It isn't my fault, is it? didn't say
anything. It was the Mayor who picked
out the other one"
Pegolan lets himself drop into chair,
with f1accid legs, and something like
remorse Selling him inwardly. For one
moment his infamy is borne in upon