barrel and saw
that the flight of his bullet would cut the throats of both his
persecutors. He pulled the trigger and the bullet sped to its mark.
Both men plunged to the ground as if they had been smitten by a
thunderbolt. Lightfoot leaped from cover and seized the rearing
horses, and mounting one of them while he led the other, headed
them down the trail, and in no great hurry, for he knew that the
lake was between him and Blodgett and that the latter's boat was in
no condition to hold water."

It was the swift and deadly execution of Lightfoot which Amos had been
imitating, as he presently confessed.

I knew then the power of words--even foolish words--over the minds of
the young when they are printed and spread abroad.

I remember well the look of the venerable Judge Cady as he pronounced
the sentence of death upon Amos Grimshaw. A ray of sunlight slanting
through a window in the late afternoon fell upon his gracious
countenance, shining also, with the softer light of his spirit. Slowly,
solemnly, kindly, he spoke the words of doom. It was his way of saying
them that first made me feel the dignity and majesty of the law. The
kind and fatherly tone of his voice put me in mind of that Supremest
Court which is above all question and which was swiftly to enter
judgment in this matter and in others related to it.

Slowly the crowd moved out of the court room. Benjamin Grimshaw rose and
calmly whispered to his lawyer. He had not spoken to his son or seemed
to notice him since the trial had begun, nor did he now. Many had shed
tears that day, but not he. Mr. Grimshaw never showed but one
emotion--that of anger. He was angry now. His face was hard and stern.
He muttered as he walked out of the court room, his cane briskly beating
the floor. I and others followed him, moved by differing motives. I was
sorry for him and if I had dared I should have told him that. I was
amazed to see how sturdily he stood under this blow--like a mighty oak
in a storm. The look of him thrilled me--it suggested that something was
going to happen.

The Silent Woman--as ragged as ever--was waiting on the steps. Out went
her bony finger as he came down. He turned and struck at her with his
cane and shouted in a shrill voice that rang out like a trumpet in his
frenzy:

"_Go 'way from me. Take her away, somebody. I can't stan' it. She's
killin' me. Take her away. Take her away. Take her away._"

His f