Los Angeles herald., 1907-01-13
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| "Dinnis Rumpety? Sure he'll niver be dead!''
! II tell you Dennis Rumpety is dead / have
killed him.
"You!" she shrieked 1.-The saints preserve
vel"
1t was CHASTITY work to get that dishonored
body across the corral while the spectral horse
came shifting after. Rankin wondered whether
| the dishonored soul could be far away. He Won
dered that the woman and children did not seem
to dread being left alone with--it.
As Pincher bore him back over the fourteen
miles thither where justice awaited him, Ran
kin was prey to two alternating regrets. At
one moment he wished he had not said, ''Pll
murder you" In the next turn of thought he
wished it had been murder in the first degree,
that the penalty might have been death rather
than Imprisonment.
He did~not allow himself to think of Myra
Beckwith his mind felt blood-stained, no fit
place for the thought of her.
Inside the Court House the air was suffocating
The was so crowded that he did not find
Myra's face anywhere The sheriff was among
the dancers, but the fddles were winding up the
set with last prolonged squeak.
As the scraping ceased, Rankin stood before
the sheriff. In the sudden pause of sound and
motion his voice sounded distinctly throughout
the room.
Il have just killed Dennis Rumpety,' he said.
For ten seconds there was absolute silence;
then rough voice growled, Thunder! But
you done good thing"
Upon that everybody began talking at once,
and in the midst of the clamor Ed Rankin,
the man who loved freedom better than life
was formally placed under arrest.
His trial came off the next day but one The
Coroners inquest had shown death by apoplexy
caused probably by paroxysm of rage. The
jury rendered a verdict of involuntary man
slaughter" The sentence was the lowest the
law allows, namely, one days Imprisonment with
hard labor.
This unooked-for clemency staggered the pris-
oner.
"Say, your Honor" he cried, regardless of
court etiquette-"say your Honor, could't you
lay it on little heavier?"
"The court sees no reason for altering its de-
cision," his Honor replied, gravely, passing on
to the delivery of the next sentence.
But after the court had adjourned, the judge
stepped up to the prisoner and said, kindly,
II wouldn't take it too hard if / were you,
Rankin. We all know that there was no murder
in your heart"
eyes, there was, your Honor. Yes, there was.H
"At any rate, the mans death was clearly
not your deed 1t was the hand of the Lord
that did it,"
II don't know, your Honor" Rankin per-
sisted. 1T feels to me as though it was me
that done il"
The judge and the ookers'on were puzzled by
this persistency. 1t did not seem in character.
For the first time in his life Rankin felt the
need of words The moral perplexity was too
great for him to deal with he was reaching out
for something to take hold of, thing which
his self-contaitned, crudey disciplined nature
had never craved before.
"Its an awful thing to send soul to hell"
he muttered.
Thea, in his extremity, he felt a soft touch
upon his arm. Myra Beckwith stood beside him.
ED" she said, with the sweet seriousness
which had first attracted him, and now at last
there was the tone in her voice which he would
have given his life to hear-"Ed, think of the
seven souls you have delivered out Of hell!
was over to see them yesterday"
He stood moment in awkward silence, while
Myra's hand rested upcu his arm; then before
the solemnity of a priest hefore~the altar, he
said, II guess it was the Lord that done, it,
after ALL"