Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1909-02-11
Chapter so
[coNTINuED.l

In the awful moment while he clung
to the iron bars of the %collapsing rose
window, with the flames clutching at
him, Hugh had looked into hell and
shivered before the judgment, "The
wages of sin is DEATH" In that fiery
ordeal the cheapncss and swagger, the
ostentation and self esteem, had burn
ed away, and his soul had stood
naked as a winter wood. Dying had
not then been the austere terror. What
came after? That had appalled, him.
Yet Harry Sanderson was not afraid
Of the hereafter. He chose death calm
ly, knowing that he, Hugh, was unfit
to die.
Suppose he told the truth now and
saved Harry. He had never done a
brave deed for the sake Of truth or
Righteousness or for the love of any
human being, but he could do one now.
Fol the IL red counter that had been
a symbol of a day of evil living he
could render a decd that would make
requital for those unpaid days. He
would not have played the towards
part. 1T would repair the wrong he
had done Jessica. He would have
made expiration. Forgiveness and pity,
not reproaches and shame, would fol-
low him, and it would balance perhaps
the one dreadful count that stood
against him. lie thought of the seat
fold and shivercd, yet there was a
more terrible thought: 1t Is a fearful
thing to fall into the hands of the liv-
ing God.
He made his way again to the door
and unlocked it. 1t was only to cross
that space, to speak, and then the
grim brick building and the penalty.
With a hoarse cry he slammed the
door and frantically locked it. The
edge of the searching pain was upon
him again. He stumbled back to the
couch and fell across it face down,
dragging the cushions in frantic haste
over his head to shut out the sick
%throbbing of the steam that seemed
shuddering at the fate his covering
soul dared not face.
X Il y
The groups outside the courthouse
made way ~deferentially for Jessica
but she was unconscious of it. Some
one asked Il question on the steps, an(
she heard the answer, THE state has
just finished. and the judge is charg
ing"
The narrow hall was filled, and
though all who saw gave her instan,
place, the space beyond the inner doc
was crowded beyond the possibility O
passage. She could see the Judge,
bench, with its sedate. gray bearded
figure, the jury box at the left, The
moving, restless faces about it, set lik,
a living mosaic.
She became aware suddenly that thu
figure at the high bench was speaking
bad been speaking all along:
"With the prisoners later career il
Smoky Mountain they had nothing t,
do nor had the law. The question i
a~sked-the only question it asked-was
Did he kill Moreau?' They might b.
loath to believe the same mar capable
of such contradictory acts-the cour
for example. and the shooting down o
a fellow mortal in cold blood-but i
had been truly said that such contrast!
were not impossible-nay. We're ever
matters of common observation. PREF
udice and bias aside, and sympath.
and liking aside, they constituted a tri
bunal of Justice. This the state had
right to demand, and this they, tn
jury, had made solemn oath to give"
The words had no meaning for he
ears. What did he say" she whis
pered to herself piteously. She caugh
but a glimpse of the prisoner as th'
sheriff touched his arm and led tn
way quickly to the door through which
he had been brought.
1t opened and closed upon them, AM
the tension of the packed room brok
all at once in Il great respiration of re
lief and a buzz of conversation.
A voice spoke beside her. 1t was DI
Brent. Come with me-" he said
Fielder asked me to watch for you
We oan wait in the indpe'S roomn