The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1898-08-08

miners, although deeply disappointed,
felt their hearts go out to him.
One sultry afternoon the parson Of
South City was sitting in his room, a
prey to the deepest depression. With
all the eagerness that youth and zeal
could supply he had done his best to
raise his people, and he had failed,
and he knew Il. He saw his miners
at first shamelessly and then openly,
stay away from his little church, and
his heart was sick within him. He
was wondering II 1t were worth while
staying on when his door was sudden
ly opened and a woman, disheveled
and wild-eyed, rushed in.
"Oh, parson, save my boy!" she
gasped and sank into a chair, breath
less with her haste.
why, Mrs. Mace. what on earth is
the matter?-is your son ill?" he asked
eagerly.
mo. sir, he amt i'll, but he's worse
nor that; the men are going to hang
him.
What for? Surely he hasn't been
tried. What has he done?'
well, SIR" walled the woman. "he's
got into bad company lately, and a
man accused him of horse stealing, and
and" looking fearfully around, 'it's
true, sir"
Young and inexperienced as he was in
the ways of a frontier camp, the par
son knew that horse stealing was one
of the deadly sins, and his face grew
pale as death.
I'm afraid, Mrs. Mace, that If the
men have decided to hang your son
no word of mine would stay them"
And you, a minister, to say that to
me, mother-why, it's none the less
murder and you know it. Oh, sir!"
she pleaded, there's yet time to catch
them up-for Gods sake, whose word
you preach, try and save my boy. VIII
no one help poor mother?" She wept
bitterly, while the parson. in imagina-
ton, felt himself defying the mob, and
also in Imagination saw the CHASTITY
tragedy that would ensue on his inter-
ference.
Come, Mrs. Mace, let us 60 and
hurry. and perhaps we may do some
good" Selling his hat, he ran from the
room and followed the crowd of miners
whom he saw were making for some
trees about half mile out of town.
When he finally caught up to them all
the grim preparations were made for
the execution. The rope was around
the shivering youths neck Six stall
wart men held the loose end ready at
signal to launch the criminal into
| eternity. With his boyish face flushed
with excitement the parson pressed to
the front and stood side by side with
the man about to die. A silence fell on
the throng, broken by Texas Joe, who
| said: Now, parson, this amt no place
for you. Judge Lynch has had his say,
and Jim Mace is going to be hanged,
and that's So"
And who are you to take upon your
self to judge and to execute? Don't
scowl at me and finger your gun. for
| I'm an unarmed man, and you know
it. Have not you enough blood on your
hands already without killing this boy
who has broken your laws? Give him
one more chance, and you may be
| glad yourself of it one day"
The berserker fury that occasionally
comes over men of quite meek disposi-
tions was on the little man who stood
defying the whole mob. His look
seemed to daunt even the men who held
the rope. and it hung loose about
Mace's neck.
Joe saw his authority trembling in
| the pdldHCe, ana, WIN pistol raised
said: Clear him out of the way, boys,
or I'll shoot him where he stands"
No you won't, joe said the par
son, undauntedly. You know thai
would be murder, and they don't love
you too much, even here, to stand
that"
No one spoke for a moment: ther
the Cornishman, Theleavan, shouted
out: "A life for a life. If the parsor
wants Mace TO live, let him be hanged
instead"
The mob shrank from this cold
blooded proposal and, seizing the psy.
Geological moment, the parson slipped
the halter from Maces neck. placed
it round his own and said: GO, my
lad, turn over a new leaf and leav,
this town; go, and God bless you"
The crowd opened and Mace stumbled
away looking neither to the right no,
left, leaving his rescuer standing Will
moving lips in his place.
Then Texas Joe said, with an ode
break in his voice for which he coult
not account: Say boys-there amt go
ing to be no funeral today you bet
Take off that necktie, parson, and
calculate South City will have to d,
without you in the future. We wrot
to Frisco for a strong parson, ant
may the Almighty strike me dead /
you amt a bit too strong for us. Civ,
us yer fist, parson. and"-significantl
good by."-St. Paul's.