kisa River was of an
ingenuity far beyond the compass of the Indian imagination. You have
seen a plan of it. You have heard these simple, ignorant red men
testify here. Could they have made such a plan? Impossible!

"Gentlemen, I ask you to consider the situation on that fair morning in
September when the gallant little band of redcoats rode into that
hellishly planned trap. The heart quails at the imminence of their
peril!

"That a horrible tragedy was by a miracle averted is no credit to this
prisoner. That, instead of being the most execrated murderer in the
history of our land, he is only on trial for a felony he has not
himself to thank. He has to thank the Merciful Providence on High who
caused the red man's heart to relent at the critical moment!

"Watusk could not give the order to shoot. You have heard the
policemen testify that the prisoner was furious at the Indian's
pusillanimity. I say it was a God-sent pusillanimity!

"Our merciful law makes a distinction between successful and
unsuccessful crimes, though there is no difference in the criminal. He
is lucky! Gentlemen, all that justice demands of you is that you
should find him guilty of treason-felony!"

Mr. Pascoe sat down and blew his nose with loud, conscious modesty.
The jury looked pleased and flattered. An excited murmur traveled
about the courtroom, and the judge picked up his gavel to suppress
threatened applause.

There could be no doubt as to the way popular opinion tended in this
trial. Though the applause was stopped before it began, one could feel
the crowd's animus against the prisoner no less than if they had
shouted "Hang him!" with one voice.

They believed that he had plotted against the popular idols, the
mounted police; that was enough.

The prisoner sat at a table beside his counsel with his chin in his
palm. He was well dressed and groomed--Denholm saw to that--and his
face composed, though very pale; the eyes lusterless.

Throughout Mr. Pascoe's arraignment he scarcely moved, nor appeared to
pay more than cursory attention.

It is the characteristic picture of a prisoner on trial; guilty or
innocent makes little difference on the surface. Nature, when we have
reached the limit of endurance, lends us apathy.

Ambrose had suffered so much he was dulled to suffering. He had not a
friend in the court-room except Arthur Denholm. Peter Minot, after
making a deposition in his favor, had been obliged to hasten