, steady and keen, seemed to
linger upon the face of the man standing so still above him. His look
wandered often from the face he studied to the marshal's badge upon
the other's breast.

"Yes, yes, you'll be all right," said the old woman, patting his arm,
"if you don't get to cuttin' up agin, and havin' folks shooting at
you. Son told me about you, sir, while you was layin' senseless on the
floor. Don't you take it as meddlesome fer an old woman with a son as
big as you to talk about it. And you mustn't hold no grudge ag'in' my
son for havin' to shoot at ye. A officer has got to take up for the
law--it's his duty--and them that acts bad and lives wrong has to
suffer. Don't blame my son any, sir--'tain't his fault. He's always
been a good boy--good when he was growin' up, and kind and 'bedient
and well-behaved. Won't you let me advise you, sir, not to do so no
more? Be a good man, and leave liquor alone and live peaceably and
goodly. Keep away from bad company and work honest and sleep sweet."

The black-mitted hand of the old pleader gently touched the breast of
the man she addressed. Very earnest and candid her old, worn face
looked. In her rusty black dress and antique bonnet she sat, near the
close of a long life, and epitomised the experience of the world.
Still the man to whom she spoke gazed above her head, contemplating
the silent son of the old mother.

"What does the marshal say?" he asked. "Does he believe the advice is
good? Suppose the marshal speaks up and says if the talk's all right?"

The tall man moved uneasily. He fingered the badge on his breast for a
moment, and then he put an arm around the old woman and drew her close
to him. She smiled the unchanging mother smile of three-score years,
and patted his big brown hand with her crooked, mittened fingers while
her son spake.

"I says this," he said, looking squarely into the eyes of the other
man, "that if I was in your place I'd follow it. If I was a drunken,
desp'rate character, without shame or hope, I'd follow it. If I was in
your place and you was in mine I'd say: 'Marshal, I'm willin' to swear
if you'll give me the chance I'll quit the racket. I'll drop the
tanglefoot and the gun play, and won't play hoss no more. I'll be a
good citizen and go to work and quit my foolishness. So help me God!'
That's what I'd say to you if you was marshal and I was in your
place."

"Hear my son talkin'," said the old woman softly. "Hear him, sir. You
prom