Cheyenne record., 1915-09-16
the hane.doe look we all noted.

nat tneTo were OtueE Icdooue
the place recalled another scene Of
brutality in which intention had been
followed by act, l did not then know.
1t was sufficient to me then that my
safety was secured by his own guilty
consciousness and the prevarications
into which 1t led him. Instead OF
owning up to the encounter he had 30
barely. escaped he confined himself to
the simple declaration of having heard
voices somewhere near the bridge.
which to all who know the ravine ap-
peared impossible under the condi-
tions named.
Yet for all the incongruities and
the failure of his counsel to produce
any definite impression by the prison
| er's persistent denial Of having whit
tied the stick or even Of having car.
ried 1t into Dark Hollow. l expected
a verdict in his favor. Indeed, was
so confident of it that I suffered less
during the absence Of the jury than
at any other time. and when they re-
turned. with an air of solemn decision
which proclaims unanimity of mind
and a ready verdict. was SO prepared
for his acquittal that for the first
time since the opening Of the trial
felt myself a being Of flesh and blood,
with human sentiments and hopes.
And it was: GUILTY."
When I awoke to a full realization
of what this entailed (for I must have
lost consciousness for a minute,
though no one seemed to notice.. the
20 cto oy.ir IN tho for
that 1t would devolve upon me to pro-
nounce his sentence; upon me, Archi-
bald Ostrander. an automaton no
longer, but a man realizing to the
full his part in this miscarriage of
Justice. Chaos confronted me. and in
contemplation of it. fell ILL.,
Somehow, strange as 1t may appear.
l had thought little of this possibility
previous to this moment. found my
self upon the brink of this new gulf
before the dizziness Of my escape from
the other had fully passed. Do you
wonder that recoiled, sought to gain
time, put OF delivering the sentence
from day to day? had sinned-sinned
irTedeemably-bu there are depths of
infamy beyond which a man cannot
go. had reached that point.
What saved me? A new discovery,
and the loving sympathy Of my son
Oliver. One night-a momentous one
to me-he came to my room and, clos
his back to it, contemplating me in
way that startled me.
What had happened? What lay be-
hind this new and penetrating look.
this anxious and yet persistent man
ner? I dared not think. dared not
yield to the terror which must follow
thought. Terror blanches the cheek
and my cheek must never blanch un-
der anybody's scrutiny. Never, never.
so long as lived.
"Father"-the tone quieted me. for
knew from its gentleness that he was
hesitating to speak more on his own
account than on mine-"you are not
looking well; this thing worries you.
hate to see you like this. Is it just
the loss of your old friend, or-or-"
He faltered, not knowing how to pro-
ceed.
Sometimes think" he recon-
menced, that you don't feel quite sure
of this man Scoville's guilt. Is that
SO? Tell me, father?"
did not know what to make of him.
There was no shrinking from me; no
conscious or unconscious accusation
in voice or look, but there was de-
sire to know, and a certain latent re-
solve behind it all that marked the
line between obedient boyhood and
thinking, determining man. With all
my dread-a dread SO great I felt the
first grasp of age upon my heart
strings at that moment-I recognized
no other course than to meet this in
quiry OF his with the truth-that 10,
with just so much of the truth as was
needed. No more, not one jot more.
I therefore answered, and with a show
of self-possession at which / now won
der:
You are not far from right, Oliver.
I have had moments Of doubt. The
evidence, as you must have noticed, Is
| purely circumstantial."
What evidence would satisfy you?
What would you consider a conclusive
proof of guilt?"
told him in the set phrases Of
my profession.
I "Then," he declared as I finished,
| you may rest easy as to this mans
| right to receive a sentence of death"
could not trust my ears.