hmen, and were smiling pleasantly at their
foolishness. But little Wilkins did not smile, nor did he wait for
the shovel to come down on his head; he darted under it with his open
knife in the same manner as the Roman soldier went underneath the
dense spears of the Pyrrhic phalanx, and set to work. Robinson tried
to parry the blows with the handle of the shovel, but he made only a
poor fight; the knife was driven to the hilt into his body seven
times, then he threw down his shovel, and tried to save himself
behind the boiler, but it was too late; the dispute about England and
the States was settled.

Wilkins took his team home, then returned to Joliet and gave himself
into the custody of the squire, Hoosier Smith. At the inquest he was
committed to take his trial for murder, and did not get bail. His
wife left the farm, and with her two little boys lived in an old log
hut near the gaol. She brought with her two cows, which Wilkins
milked each morning as soon as Silas let him out of prison. I could
see him every day from the window of my room, and I often passed by
the hut when he was doing chores, chopping wood, or fetching water,
but I never spoke to him. He did not look happy or sociable, and I
could not think of anything pleasant to say by way of making his
acquaintance. After much observation and thought I came to the
conclusion that Sheriff Cunningham wanted his prisoner to go away; he
would not like to hang the man; the citizens would not take Wilkins
off his hands; if two fools chose to get up a little difficulty and
one was killed, it was their own look-out; and anyway they were only
foreigners. The fact was Wilkins was waiting for someone to purchase
his farm.

The court-house for Will County was within view of the gaol, at the
other side of the street, and one day I went over to look at it. The
judge was hearing a civil case, and I sat down to listen to the
proceedings. A learned counsel was addressing the jury. He talked
at great length in a nasal tone, slowly and deliberately; he had one
foot on a form, one hand in a pocket of his pants, and the other hand
rested gracefully on a volume of the statutes of the State of
Illinois. He had much to say about various horses running on the
prairie, and particularly about one animal which he called the
"Skemelhorne horse." I tried to follow his argument, but the
"Skemelhorne horse" was so mixed up with the other horses that I
could not spot him.

Se