the true
state of the case, and I felt on the conclusion that the writer had not
unskillfully reversed his previous unfavorable version. Martin Lorimer,
however, signally failed to appreciate it, for the words obsolete and
full-crusted stuck in his throat, and I had some difficulty in restraining
him from returning forthwith to the newspaper offices. The journal
eventually languished, and succumbed after some friction with the
authorities when the editor left it to seek in the great republic a wider
field for his talents, but before this happened he paid us several
friendly visits at Fairmead.

The trial, which excited public interest at the time, took place shortly
afterward. It transpired that there were other charges of fraud against
the pair of thieves, whose case was hopeless from the beginning, but the
prosecution experienced some difficulty in obtaining evidence to connect
Fletcher definitely with them, though several facts suggested that he had
for some time acted as a tool in their hands. The court was crammed, and
looking down on the sea of faces I could recognize a number of my
neighbors from the Fairmead district and Carrington, and was not overjoyed
to see them. An attempt to steal a large draft of cattle was an important
event on the prairie. I should not have testified at all, could this have
been avoided, which, however, was not the case, and I awaited with much
anxiety the cross-examination for the defense, because my solicitor had
warned me that as more latitude was generally allowed than in England an
attempt would be made to arouse popular sympathy on behalf of Fletcher and
shake my evidence by casting doubts on my character.

"Have you any animus against the prisoner Fletcher?" was the first
question.

"No," I answered. "Indeed, I was always anxious to befriend him until he
robbed and slandered me."

"Or his wife?" added the inquisitor. "I think you knew her in England. Is
it not true that you took her from the service of a railroad hotel and
found a house for her on the prairie?"

There was a murmur in the court, and objection was taken to this question
by the prosecution, but I was directed to answer it, so I said as coolly
as I could: "I did know her in England. She was clerk in my uncle's mill,
where Thomas Fletcher assisted the cashier. He was not married then. I
took her from the service of the railroad hotel."

"It is a damaging admission," said my persecutor, and would have continued