"Of course, I can't expect you to have any sympathy for this other
business, Brokaw," he went on. "Sympathy isn't in your line, an' you
wouldn't be the big man you are in the service if you had it. But I'd
like to know what YOU would have done. We were up there six months, and
we'd both grown to love the big woods, and she was growing prettier and
happier every day--when Thorne, the new superintendent, came up. One
day she told me that she didn't like Thorne, but I didn't pay much
attention to that, and laughed at her, and said he was a good fellow.
After that I could see that something was worrying her, and pretty soon
I couldn't help from seeing what it was, and everything came out. It
was Thorne. He was persecuting her. She hadn't told me, because she
knew it would make trouble and I'd lose my job. One afternoon I came
home earlier than usual, and found her crying. She put her arms round
my neck, and just cried it all out, with her face snuggled in my neck,
and kissin' me--"

Brokaw could see the cords in Billy's neck. His manacled hands were
clenched.

"What would you have done, Brokaw?" he asked huskily. "What if you had
a wife, an' she told you that another man had insulted her, and was
forcing his attentions on her, and she asked you to give up your job
and take her away? Would you have done it, Brokaw? No, you wouldn't.
You'd have hunted up the man. That's what I did. He had been
drinking--just enough to make him devilish, and he laughed at me--I
didn't mean to strike so hard.--But it happened. I killed him. I got
away. She and the baby are down in the little cottage again--down in
York State--an' I know she's awake this minute--our wedding
day--thinking of me, an' praying for me, and counting the days between
now and spring. We were going to South America then."

Brokaw rose to his feet, and put fresh wood into the stove.

"I guess it must be pretty hard," he said, straightening himself. "But
the law up here doesn't take them things into account--not very much.
It may let you off with manslaugher--ten or fifteen years. I hope it
does. Let's turn in."

Billy stood up beside him. He went with Brokaw to a bunk built against
the wall, and the sergeant drew a fine steel chain from his pocket.
Billy lay down, his hands crossed over his breast, and Brokaw deftly
fastened the chain about his ankles.

"And I suppose you think THIS is hard, too," he added. "But I guess
you'd do it if you were me. Ten years of thi