'But don't you think it might have been a little less than half a mile?'

'No, it's nigh onto a mile. I did n't measure it, but it's a mighty big threequarters.'

5

pishly, disposed to dash at any gap that offered a possible way of escape.

'What sort of trees were there on the ground?'

'Beech.'

'Beech-leaves are pretty thick in August?' asked Lincoln.

'Ye-es, ruther,' gasped the witness, seeing a new pitfall yawning just ahead of

The witness answered combatively, and in this mood he made a better impression than he did on his direct examination. The prosecuting attorney looked relieved. Tom listened with an attention painful 10 him. to see, his eyes moving anxiously from Lincoln to Dave as he wondered what point in Dave's armor the lawyer could be driving at. He saw plainly that his salvation was staked on some last throw. 15 'You did n't have any candle in your hand, did you, at any time during the evening?'

No!' said Dave, positively. For some reason this question disconcerted him and 20 awakened his suspicion. 'What should we have a candle for?' he added.

'Did either George Lockwood or Tom have a candle?'

'And yet light enough from the moon came through these thick beech-trees to let you know Tom Grayson?' 'Yes.'

And you could see him shoot?' 'Yes.'

'And you full twenty feet away?'

'Well, about that; nearly twenty, anyhow.' Dave shifted his weight to his right foot.

And you pretend to say to this court that by the moonlight that you got through the beech-trees in August you could even see that it was a pistol that

'No, of course not! What'd they have 25 Tom had?' candles for?'

'Where were the lights on the campground?'

'Closte by the preachers' tent.' 'More than three-quarters of a mile 30 away from the place where the murder. took place?'

'Anyway as much as three-quarters,' said Dave, who began to wish that he could modify his previous statement of 35 the distance.

How far away were you from Lockwood when the murder took place?' 'Twenty feet.'

'You said or more awhile ago.'

'Well, 't wus n't no less, p'r'aps,' said Dave, showing signs of worry. 'You don't think I measured it, do yeh?'

'There were no lights nearer than three-quarters of a mile?'

'No,' said the witness, the cold perspiration beading on his face as he saw Lincoln's trap opening to receive him.

'Ye-es.' Dave now stood on his left

foot.

And you could see what kind of a pistol it was?' This was said with a little laugh very exasperating to the witness.

'Yes, I could,' answered Dave, with dogged resolution not to be faced down.

And just how the barrel was hung to the stock?' There was a positive sneer in Lincoln's voice now.

'Yes.' This was spoken feebly.

'And you twenty feet or more away?' 'I've got awful good eyes, an' I know what I see,' whined the witness, apolo40 getically.

45

Here Lincoln paused and looked at Sovine, whose extreme distress was only made the more apparent by his feeble endeavor to conceal his agitation. The counsel, after regarding his uneasy victim for a quarter of a minute, thrust his hand into the tail-pocket of his blue coat, and after a little needless fumbling drew forth a small pamphlet in green covers. He turned the leaves of this with extreme deliberation, while the court-room was utterly silent. The members of the bar had as by general consent put their chairs down on all-fours, and were intently watching the struggle between the counsel and the witness. The sallow-faced judge had stopped the scratching of his quill, and had lowered his spectacles on his nose,

that he might study the distressed face of the tormented Sovine. Mrs. Grayson's hands were on her lap, palms downward; her eyes were fixed on Abra'm, and her mouth was half open, as though she were going to speak.

means of moonlight shining through the trees beech-trees in full leaf. This is a pretty hard story. How much light does even a full moon shed in a beech 5 woods like that on the Union campground? Not enough to see your way by, as everybody knows who has had to stumble through such woods.' Lincoln paused here, that the words he had spoken 10 might have time to produce their due effect on the judge, and especially on the slower wits of some of the jury. Meanwhile he turned the leaves of his pamphlet. Then he began once more. But,

with the witness I would like to have the jury look at the almanac which I hold in my hand. They will here see that on the night of the 9th of last August, when this extraordinary witness' with a sneer at Dave, who had sunk down on a chair in exhaustion-saw the shape of a pistol at twenty feet away, at 10 o'clock, by moonlight, the moon did not rise until half

Barbara found it hard to keep her seat, she was so eager for Lincoln to go on, and Tom was leaning forward breathlessly in the dock; his throat felt dry, and he choked when he tried to swallow; it seemed to him that he would smother with the beating of his heart. But it was worth while to turn away from these more interested parties to look for a 15 may it please the court, before proceeding moment at the ruddy face of Bob McCord, which was puckered to a kind of focus with an expression that was customary with him in a moment of supreme interest, as when he was drawing a sure bead on a bear or deer. It was worth while to regard Rachel Albaugh, who had lifted the veil from her face radiant with interest. Lincoln appeared to be the only perfectly deliberate person in the room. He 5 past I in the morning.' seemed disposed to protract the situation as long as possible. He held his victim on the rack and he let him suffer. He would turn a leaf or two in his pamphlet and then look up at the demoralized wit- 30 ness, as though to fathom the depth of his torture and to measure the result. At last he fixed his thumb firmly at a certain place on a page and turned his eyes to the judge.

Sovine had been gasping like a fish newly taken from the water while Lincoln uttered these words, and he now began to mutter something.

'You may have a chance to explain when the jury get done looking at the almanac,' said the lawyer to him. For the present you'd better keep silence.'

There was a rustle of excitement in the court-room, but at a word from the judge the sheriff's gavel fell and all was stiil. Lincoln walked slowly toward the jurybox and gave the almanac to the foreman, an intelligent farmer. Countrymen in

and one group after another of the jurymen satisfied themselves that on the night of the 9th, that is, on the morning of the Ioth, the moon came up at half-past I o'clock. When all had examined the page, the counsel recovered his little book. Will you let me look at it?' asked the judge.

Now, your Honor,' he said to the court, this witness,' with a half-contemptuous gesture of his awkward left hand toward Sovine, has sworn over and over that he recognized the accused as the 40 that day were used to consulting almanacs, person who shot George Lockwood, near the Union camp-meeting on the night of the 9th of last August, and that he, the witness, was standing at the time twenty feet or more away, while the scene of the 45 shooting was nearly a mile distant from the torches inside the circle of tents. So remarkably sharp are this witness's eyes that he even saw what kind of pistol the prisoner held in his hands, and how the 50 barrel was hung to the stock, and he is able to identify this pistol of Gravson's as precisely like and probably the identical weapon.' Here Lincoln paused and scrutinized Sovine. All these details he saw 55 and observed in the brief space of time preceding the fatal shot.-saw and observed them at 10 o'clock at night, by

Certainly, your Honor;' and the little witness was handed up to the judge, who with habitual caution looked it all over, outside and in, even examining the titlepage to make sure that the book was genuine and belonged to the current year. Then he took note on a slip of paper of the moon's rising on the night of August 9 and 10, and handed back the almanac to Lincoln, who slowly laid it face down

ward on the table in front of him, open at the place of its testimony. The audience in the court-room was utterly silent and expectant. The prosecuting attorney got halfway to his feet to object to Lincoln's course, but he thought better of it and sat down again.

'Now, may it please the court,' Lincoln went on, I wish at this point to make a motion. I think the court will not regard 10 it as out of order, as the case is very exceptional a matter of life and death. This witness has solemnly sworn to a story that has manifestly not one word of truth in it. It is one unbroken falsehood. 15 In order to take away the life of an innocent man he has invented this atrocious web of lies, to the falsity of which the very heavens above bear witness, as this almanac shows you. Now why does 20 David Sovine go to all this trouble to perjure himself? Why does he wish to swear away the life of that young man who never did him any harm?' Lincoln stood still a moment, and looked at the 25 witness, who had grown ghastly pale about the lips. Then he went on, very slowly. Because that witness shot and killed George Lockwood himself. I move your Honor, that David Sovine be ar- 30 rested at once for murder.'

These words, spoken with extreme deliberation and careful emphasis, shook the audience like an explosion.

The prosecutor got to his feet, probably 35 to suggest that the motion was not in order, since he had yet a right to a redirect examination of Sovine, but, as the attorney for the State, his duty was now a divided one as regarded two men 40 charged with the same crime. So he waved his hand irresolutely, stammered inarticulately, and sat down.

6

'This is at least a case of extraordinary perjury,' said the judge. Sheriff, arrest 45 David Sovine! This matter will have to be looked into.'

The sheriff came down from his seat, and went up to the now stunned and bewildered Sovine.

'I arrest you,' he said, taking him by the arm.

The day-and-night fear of detection in which Dave had lived for all these weeks had wrecked his self-control at last.

'God!' he muttered, dropping his head with a sort of shudder. T ain't any use keepin' it back any longer. I did n't

mean to shoot him, an' I would n't 'a' come here ag'inst Tom if I could 'a' got away.'

The words appeared to be wrung from 5 him by some internal agony too strong for him to master; they were the involuntary result of the breaking down of his forces under prolonged suffering and terror, culminating in the slow torture inflicted by his cross-examination. A minute later, when his spasm of irresolution had passed off, he would have retracted his confession if he could. But the sheriff's deputy, with the assistance of a constable, was already leading him through the swaying crowd in the aisle, while many people got up and stood on the benches to watch the exit of the new prisoner. When at length Sovine had disappeared out of the door the spectators turned and looked at Tom, sitting yet in the dock, but with the certainty of speedy release before him. The whole result of Lincoln's masterful stroke was now for the first time realized, and the excitement bade fair to break over bounds. McCord doubled himself up once or twice in the effort to repress his feelings out of respect for the court, but his emotions were too much for him; his big fist, grasping his ragged hat, appeared above his head.

Goshamity! Hooray!' he burst out with a stentorian voice, stamping his foot as he waved his hat.

At this the whole court-roomful of people burst into cheers, laughter, cries, and waving of hats and handkerchiefs, in spite of the sheriff's sharp rapping and shouts of Order in court!' And when at length the people were quieted a little, Mrs. Grayson spoke up, with a choking voice:

'Jedge, ain't you a-goin' to let him go now?'

There was a new movement of feeling, and the judge called out, Sheriff, order in court!' But his voice was husky and tremulous. He took off his spectacles to wipe them, and he looked out of the win50 dow behind him, and put his handkerchief first to one eye, then to the other, before he put his glasses back.

'May it please the court,' said the tall lawyer, who had remained standing, waiting for the tempest to subside, and who now spoke in a subdued voice, 'I move your Honor, that the jury be instructed to render a verdict of "Not guilty." The

judge turned to the prosecuting attorney. I don't think, your Honor,' stammered Allen, that I ought to object to the motion of my learned brother, under the peculiar circumstances of this case.'

'I don't think you ought,' said the judge, promptly, and he proceeded to give the jury instructions to render the desired verdict. As soon as the jury, nothing loath, had gone through the formality of 10 a verdict, the sheriff came and opened the door of the box to allow Tom to come out.

Abr‍am,' said Mrs. Grayson, d' yeh know I kind uv lost confidence in you 15 when you sot there so long without doin' anything.' Then, after a moment of pause: Abr'am, I'm thinkin' I'd ort to deed you my farm. You've 'arned it, my

son; the good Lord A'mighty knows you have.'

'I'll never take one cent, Aunt Marthy

not a single red cent;' and the lawyer' 5 turned away to grasp Tom's hand. But the poor fellow who had so recently felt the halter about his neck could not yet speak his gratitude. Tom here,' said Lincoln, will be a help in your old days, Aunt Marthy, and then I'll be paid a hundred times. You see it 'll tickle me to think that when you talk about this you'll say: "That's the same Abe Lincoln that I used to knit stockings for when he was a poor little fellow, with his bare toes sticking out of ragged shoes in the snow." Mrs. Grayson tried to say something more, but she could not.

From The Graysons, 1888.

JOHN HAY (1838-1905)

The early life of John Hay was like that of Eggleston. He too was born in a refined home in early Indiana, and he too was sent when thirteen to live with a relative in a region full of crude western types,- Pike County, Illinois; but here the parallel stops. At sixteen he was sent to Brown University in Rhode Island where he came into contact with a little literary circle and became deeply interested in poetry and the finer things of art. After his graduation and his return to the West as a law student in his uncle's office, he looked upon himself as a poet in exile' and for a time he went on writing lyrics of the Heine, Longfellow type. But the headlong West was about him: dreams and Keats-like lyrics had no place in the stirring office where Lincoln came as a visitor and where political campaigns were planned. At length he gave himself wholly to the law, and after the election of Lincoln was enabled, through his uncle's influence, to secure the position of secretary to the President. Later, after the war, he was given diplomatic work at Paris, at Vienna, and at Madrid, returning in 1870 with a delightful series of Spanish sketches, Castilian Days, which was published in the Atlantic. His later biography is concerned largely with his career as a diplomatist and a statesman, a career brilliant and far-reaching in its influence.

In the field of letters Hay produced little and that little always during the intervals of a busy career, but all that he wrote was singularly influential. In 1870, for instance, he wrote with careless abandon a half dozen ballads of homely western frontier life, collected later as Pike County Ballads, and all unconsciously set in motion that school of political local colorists, and dialect versifiers of whom James Whitcomb Riley is perhaps the typical figure. His anonymous novel, The Bread Winners, 1883, was widely commented on, but his most notable work, his supreme literary achievement, was his life of Lincoln written in conjunction with John G. Nicolay, a work that covers with completeness one whole vital period in American history. His was one of those rare germinal minds that appear now and then to break into new regions and to scatter seed from which others are to reap the harvest.