lt to adhere to his regard for law, order, and justice. The
prosecution had shown conclusively that Billy was a hard customer. The
police had brought witnesses who did not hesitate to perjure themselves
in their testimony--testimony which it seemed to Billy the densest of
jurymen could plainly see had been framed up and learned by rote until
it was letter-perfect.

These witnesses could recall with startling accuracy every detail
that had occurred between seventeen minutes after eight and twenty-one
minutes past nine on the night of September 23 over a year before; but
where they had been and what they had done ten minutes earlier or ten
minutes later, or where they were at nine o'clock in the evening last
Friday they couldn't for the lives of them remember.

And Billy was practically without witnesses.

The result was a foregone conclusion. Even Billy had to admit it, and
when the prosecuting attorney demanded the death penalty the prisoner
had an uncanny sensation as of the tightening of a hempen rope about his
neck.

As he waited for the jury to return its verdict Billy sat in his cell
trying to read a newspaper which a kindly guard had given him. But his
eyes persisted in boring through the white paper and the black type to
scenes that were not in any paper. He saw a turbulent river tumbling
through a savage world, and in the swirl of the water lay a little
island. And he saw a man there upon the island, and a girl. The girl was
teaching the man to speak the language of the cultured, and to view life
as people of refinement view it.

She taught him what honor meant among her class, and that it was better
to lose any other possession rather than lose honor. Billy realized that
it had been these lessons that had spurred him on to the mad scheme that
was to end now with the verdict of "Guilty"--he had wished to vindicate
his honor. A hard laugh broke from his lips; but instantly he sobered
and his face softened.

It had been for her sake after all, and what mattered it if they did
send him to the gallows? He had not sacrificed his honor--he had done
his best to assert it. He was innocent. They could kill him but they
couldn't make him guilty. A thousand juries pronouncing him so could not
make it true that he had killed Schneider.

But it would be hard, after all his hopes, after all the plans he had
made to live square, to SHOW THEM. His eyes still boring through the
paper suddenly found themselves attracted b