They'll sweat it out of
'em up at Rouen when they get 'em."
"I reckon maybe some of us might help," remarked Mr. Watts, reflectively.
Jim Bardlock swore a violent oath. "That's the talk!" he shouted. "Ef I
ain't the first man of this crowd to set my foot in Roowun, an' first to
beat in that jail door, an' take 'em out an' hang 'em by the neck till
they're dead, dead, dead, I'm not Town Marshal of Plattville, County of
Carlow, State of Indiana, and the Lord have mercy on our souls!"
Tom Martin looked at the brown stain and quickly turned away; then he went
back slowly to the village. On the way he passed Warren Smith.
"Is it so?" asked the lawyer.
Martin answered with a dry throat. He looked out dimly over the sunlit
fields, and swallowed once or twice. "Yes, it's so. There's a good deal of
it there. Little more than a boy he was." The old fellow passed his seamy
hand over his eyes without concealment. "Peter ain't very bright,
sometimes, it seems to me," he added, brokenly; "overlook Bodeffer and
Fisbee and me and all of us old husks, and--and--" he gulped suddenly,
then finished--"and act the fool and take a boy that's the best we had. I
wish the Almighty would take Peter off the gate; he ain't fit fer it."
When the attorney reached the spot where the crowd was thickest, way was
made for him.
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