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#■

ROBERTSON'S CHEAP SERIES.

POPULAR READING AT POPULAR PRICES.

THE JERICHO ROAD;

'a story of western life.

JOHN HABBERTON,

Author of " Ifelen's Babie-n."

AMERICAN EDITION SELLS AT 50c. and $1.00.

ROBERTSON'S EDITION, TEN CENTS.

COMPLETE.

This Book has had an immense sale in England and the United States.

Toronto :

J. Rosa R0BBUT8ON, 67 YoNGB Strbbt.

1877.

[X^ )

CANADA

!i !

PUBLIC ARCHIVES i'
ARCHIVES PUBLIQUES I

e^.'ifs

CONTENTS.

< t

"'^''- PAoir

I. In which the Hero is introduced 5

II. In which the Hero finds and loses one of his earliest

Acquaintances 7

III. Delineating A CERTAIN popular impression concerning

the NATURE OF HUMAN SYMPATHY 9

IV. In which THE Hero is Punished for appreciating the

Merits of his Best Friend i2-

V. In which Cause follows Effect in a manner perfect-
ly naturai .14

VI. The Hero Explains i6

, VII. The Innocent suffers for the Guilty . . . .18
VIII. The Doctor gets above his Business and does not

escape Rebuke 20

XI. In which the Squire attempts Strategy ... 22

X. Dr. Beers goes Hunting with Unexpected Results . 24

XI. "Regulators'"' Q)Urt . . -,r

XII. The Righteous shall suffer Persecution . . .28

XIII. Priests and Levites 29

XIV. A new Experience 31

XV. The Squire's Religious Interest in Lem is cruelly

abused 33

XVI. The Hero forms some Moneyed Acquaintances . . 35

XVII. A misdirected Missionary Effort 37

XVI 1 1. The Wisdom of Serpents 38

XIX. Friends in Council 40

XX. In which the Hero Sticks to his Friends . . .43.

XXI. Public Opinion 4^

XXII. Western Courts and Western Justice . . . .46-

XXIII. In which the Hero Escapes from the Road . . .48;

XXIV. Two couples of Penitents 50

Conclusion ". . - . ct

.//

PREFACE.

Whilst reading of the poor fellow who had so hard a time on the
road to Jericho, two thousand years ago, I have often wondered what
would have happened had not the Good Samaritan come along. Similar
accidents have occurred when the Good Samaritan was longed for, but
failed to put in an appearance ; when priests and Levites passed by in
unending procession ; when the thieves had such an air of respectability
that the victim naturally wondered if a reputation for honesty did not
depend more upon profession than upon practice, and where the needed
elief came finally from people as low morally as the Samaritan was
socially. The true caieer of the person whom I have called Lem Pankett
would be scouted as improbable if I told it as it occurred. It has there-
fore been relieved of some of its rougher corners and darker shadows ;
,but I believe enough remains to show the risk which society runs in allow
Ti<y th e vicious to take care of the weak. I do not attempt to prove that
the weak naturally fall into the hands of the wicked, for every observing
person already knows that this is the rule.

If the religion of some of my characters seems of doubtful quality, the
'discredit belongs to the persons themselves, and not to their beliefs
There are few rascals, excepting those of the highest culture, who are
entirely without religious sentiments, and who do not bend their best
logical powers to the task of reconciling their practices with their beliefs.
Possibly some of my readers— when they examine their neighbours' hearts
—may admit that this habit is net entirely confined to scamps.

THE JERICHO ROAD.

> « ♦ > <

Ire

CHAPTER 1.

IN WHICH THE HEUO IS INTRODUCED.

"Lively, boys, lively! Trot along!
'Tain't no time to try the turtle-step. While
you're a-creepin' along like an angle-worm
funeral, the Wabash is a-fallin', and if we
get stuck way up the river, so's we have to
lay up all summer, and you have to hoof it
to deep water, you can blame your own lazy
legs for it. "

The speaker was Captain Sam Bates, of
the river packet " Helen Douglas," and his
hearers were the deck hands, or '•rousta-
bouts," who were engaged in the ojjeration
of "wooding up." To the passengers, the
men seemed to move with great alacrity,
and the large pile of wood on the bank ap-
peared literally to melt under their touch,
but the captain, anxious to get up the Wa-
bash for a load of freight, and to get out
again before the river, temporarily swollen
by the " June freshet," should fall, the men
seemed to move as if going .^o church. Be-
sides, the captain liad to say somethimf — no
western steaniboatman in good standing ever
imagined that a steamboat could be wooded
up unless some one stood at the rail and
roared encouragingly and cursorily through-
out the operation.

Again the captain raised his voice.
" Come, come — nobody asked you to go
back in the country and cut down trees and
split them up before you In-ought wood
aboard. By thunder, I believe some of you
are waiting to have the wood grow before
you pack it in. I wish I'd have wooded
down at CarroUton — there's a big cemetery
there, and I might have hired a few corjises
to tote in wood, just to show you fellows
how business is done. Here ! you slim fel-
low ashore there (this to a wretched-look-
ing specimen of humanity, who, bent half
double, and with hands in pockets, was
looking on), freeze in, and show them snails
how to travel !"

The person addressed undoubled himself,
scrambled up the bank, seized several sticks
of wood, and hurried up the " return" plank

and aboard the boat so rapidly and reckless-
ly as to strike one man between the should-
ers with the wood, aua to edge another off
the plank and into the water.

" Bully !" shouted the captain, as a volley
of oaths came up from the injured men, and
from others against whom the new man rub-
bed and scraped. "Bully! Now you're
wakin' up, just as your work's about done !
Lively, you loafers, or you'll be left behind I
Haul in ! Put it to her, Ben" (this to the
pilot). " Cast oil' that head-line, there."

The head-line was cast ofi' as the pilct'-
bell rang ; the escape-pipes groanecl like
demons in agony ; the wheel astern stirred
the mud ; and the boat glided slowly from
beneath the overhanging boughs, and went
staggering and trembling up tiie Mississippi.
The captain turned from the rail with the
countenance of a saint conscious 6f having
done his full duty towards a^jerverse genera-
tion, when his eyes fell upon the stranger
whose performances upon the gang-plank
had awakened the spirits of the roustabouts.

"Hands not allowed on deck — trot!" ex-
claimed the captain, when the man stretched
forth his hands appealingly, and said :

" Captain, let me go along, won't ye ? I
hain't done nothin' for (iod knows how long
— been down with ager — an' I've got a family
to look out for."

" Well," said the Captain, looking signifi-
cantly at the stretch of water betM'een the
boat and the shore, " I reckon I'll have to
take you, unless 1 drop you overboard, and
I s'pose you wouldn't think that kind of me.
Co below and tell the mate to take your
time."

The new hand reached the boiler-deck, and
reported to the mate. That functionary sur-
veyed him critically, hinted that the captain
was an eternally condemned idiot for employ-
ing so eternally condemned a rack of bones,
and instructed him to "go aft with the other
roughs." Having gone aft, the young man
did not experience as cordial a reception as
he could have wished. The man he had
knocked off the plank upbraided him in
scriptural language. Another man was
dressing an ear which had been wounded by

THE JERICHO ROAU.

a stick of wood carried on the shoulder of
the new man, and a gentleman of unusual
length, who was addressed as "Forkey,''
was bemoaning the loss of a hat, his only
one, whit;h had been carried away by the
stranger's impetuous rush.

" Most carried my head with it, too," re-
marked Mr. Forkey, in conclusion,

" I'm mighty sorry, laui," said the new-
comer. "1 hadn't no idee of doin' any
harm, but I've had the fever an" ager ever
sence I came to this country, an' 1 ain't over
an' above stiddy on my legs. "

" Whar d'ye come from?" asked Mr.
Forkey, somewhat mollified.

" York State," replied the stranger.
" What did ye leave thar fur ?" demanded
he of the wound cjd ear. " The West wasn't
made ," )r blunderin' shadders to play circus
in."

" I had to lea,"e." yaid the youth, "to
make a livin' for the folks." i

" Yer ain't married ?" interrogated a gen-
tleman in A red shirt, with a critically con-
temptuous look. j
" No — I mean dad's folks," .said the new i
hand. j
" Old man hung '!" growled "the Parson," !
so called because he was the meanest man on :
board. I
" No !" exclaimed theyoung nian,strai(rht- j
ening and flushing; "and I'll try to whip I
any man who says he was. He was a shoe-
maker, and somebody got out a story that he
stole, so the folks kind o' stopped coiniu' to
him, and he took to drinkin'. One day he
was half mad with whiskey, and went
to the drug-store and ordered two '.
ounces of arsenic, but the clerk gave j
him ipecac instid. Than the whole j
family got sick, an' the folks found some |
white powder in the bottom of the milk |
pitcher, an' started the story that he tried to ,
pizen the family. I guess folks is sorry now, j
fur he left town, an' hain't been seen since — '
I reckon it wore on him so bad that it killed
him." j
"The family all liveol, then ?" asked the j
Parson.

"Of course they did," replied the young i
man, verj'^ quickly and indignantly. !

" Parson," said the gentleman in the red j
shirt, ofi'ering the person addressed a silver |
dime, " take Slim up to the bar and treat j
him to whiskey; he needs a bracer — bad."

" Don't you s'pose anybody else has got
any money ?" growled the Parson, giving the
extended hand a vigorous blow which sent
the coin flying forward to the boilers. Then
he led t he youth to the upper deck, and to
the outer window of the bar.

The gentleman in red mumbled great oaths,
and rubbed hia hand until the couple were

out of hearing. Then he spole up hur-
riedly ;

" Boys," said he, " that miserable little
cuss musen't be tormented — he ain't more
than half-witted, I reckon, an' what wits he
lias got is pretty much shook to pieces with
the ager."

" Tliat's so. Baker," remarked a very hir-
sute gentleman, "an' I don't believe any-
body but Parson '11 trouble him, but he'H
pester liim to death, if he gets a chance. "

" He shan't get a chance," exclaimed
Forkey, the liatless individual. " 1 know
Parson's mean ways about as well as any-
body, an' ril app'int myself an orphan asy-
lum committee tc watch the old scoundrel.

1 believe "

" Sh — h — h - " here they come now!"
whispered Mr. Baker, and immediately the
men, twelve or fifteen in all, tried to look as
if they had not been talking about anything
in particular.

" Where's the new feller to bunk, Baker?'"
asked Forkey. Mr. Baker seemed tiie uni-
versally acknowledged leader of the roust-
abouts, to wiiom was referred for adjudica-
tion all (|uestions of dispute or doubt.

" That's a faut !" exclaimed Baker, looking
around. " Wlio's got a whole bunk to him-
self ?"

" I have !" shouted the Parson, quickly.
" Who else ?" asked Mr. Baker. No (me
answered. " Your bunk 's a top one, Par-
son," remf-rked Mr. Baker, with hypocritical
deference ; " it's ruther rough to m ake
sickly feller climb so high. S'pose you take
in somebody from down below, an' give Slim
a chance to save his breath."

" 1 reckon," said Parson, with even
uglier expression of countenance than
which it habitually wore, " I know rules
aboard boats. A man's got to take his luck.
When there's only one bunk open, he has to
turn into that, no matter where 'tis. "

Mr. Baker began to trifle suggestively
with the cuff's of his own Hannel shirt, but
the tall Forkey whispered in his ear :

" I've got a top bunk, right opposite ;
ni watch him." Just then all hands were
called forward to put oft' some freight at a
landing which the l)oat M'as approaching, so
the discussion ended without physical harm
to any one. The watchful Forkey, however,
contrived to assist the new hand long
enough to whisper :

" Look out for Parson ! It'll be first of
the month before we get to Cairo, an' then
we'll get our pay. Parson '11 steal yours —
every dog-goned cent of it."

Then Mr. Baker walked aboard beside
Slim, and said in an undertone, " Keep yer
eye skinned — that old cuss don't mean any
good — we'll all stand by yer — give hi tn one

THE JERICHO ROAD.

between the eyes the first time he cuts up
mean !" The uew hand was considerably
disturbed in mind, and his jjerturljation did
not decrease as lie realized liow completely
he was covered by the Parson's wing. The
Parson seated Slim beside him at the table,
and even helped him to food. It rather as-
tonished Mr. Baker to see the Parson, after
akilf ully appropriating the best cuts of meat,
as was his usual custom, pass liis plate to
Master .Slim, and content himself with the
next best cuts he could find. The Parson
even sweetened Slini's coffee for him, which
operation caused Forkey to stealthily whis-
per to the young man :

" If you should feel bad any time just
after eatin', go right to the clerk and ask for
an emetic ; don't do no loatin' about it, either
— pizen sometimes gets into coffee."

Forkey climbed that night to his bunk
withtiie praiseworthy resolution to lay awake
all night, and, with eyes apparently closed,
to watch every motion of the original oc-
cupant of the oi)posite bunk. This resolve
formed a magnificent stone in the jjavement j
of a certain dangerous but highly popular !
pathway, famed in proverb as paved with
such material, for while in the midst of a i
subtle mental device for overcoming the \
Parson, Forkey fell into a peaceful slum-
ber. Waking suddenly in the middle of the
night — fror" a dream in which the Parson
was with one hand seductively offering Slim a
cup of poison while with the other he was
rifling Slim's pockets — Forkey sprang sud-
denly up and looked toward the opposite
bunk. To his great surprise he saw, by the
dim light of the single lantern which hung in
the wai'd, the Parson, who was always grum-
bling about the cold drafts which swept
through the boiler-deck at night, folding his
blanket douVde and piling it over his bunk-
mate, after which operation the Parson
stretched himself in his bunk with no cover-
ing whatever. Forkey lay awake for the
remainder of the evening, determined to bf
ready to give the Parson the lie the momeuf
that gentleman awoke and accused Slim ot
appropriating his bed-clothing. The couple
arose without quarreling, however, and the
Parson was as kind to the green hand as ie
he had himself slept under downy coverlets
throughout the night.

Forkey pondered over the matter without
reaching a satisfacto-'y conclusion as to the
Parson's motive. He consulted Mr. Baker,
but that gentleman, even after stimulating
his intellect in the manner peculiar to roust-
abouts, was unable to offer any theory in
elucidation. In fact when, to have undis-
turbed opportunity for reflection, Mr. Baker
climbed to the top of a pile of cotton on the
After-deck, he himself received a revelation

compared with which Forkcy's was insignifi-
cant. He was lying on his stomach, as ia
the custom of the meditative roustabout, and
his eyes naturally fell upon the narrow nin-
way M'hich had been left between the cotton
and the side of the boat. Suddenly the un-
handsome form of the I'arson appeared, and,
after dropping a roll of bills, nuickly vanish-
ed. The startled observer sprang to his feet,
ran softly along thecotton-heap, and readied
thf end of it just in time to hear the Parson
say to Slim:

" vN'ouldn't ye like t<( have yer name tat-
tooed on to yer arm, so if ye got lost over-
board, or got hurt a8h«)re, folks 'd know
where ye b'longed?

" Yes," replied the youth.
"(Jo 'round behind the cotton, then," said
the Parson, "and I'll get my things an' come
an' do the biznuss. "

Mr. Baker, swearint/ eloquently to him-
self, returned to his original resting-place in
time to see Slim start at the sight of the roll,
and (juickly pick it up. At one and the same
instant, the observer rose to his feet and the
Parson appeared, saw the money and ex-
claimed :

I ' ' Hello ! found .somethin' ?"
I "Yes," drawled Slim, his eyes opening
! widely ; "1 wonder who lost it ?"
j "Don't trouble your head about that,"
roughly exclaimed the Parson. "If it's any-
body aboard he'll growl about itsoon enough.
Jest keep yer mouth tight shet about it —
that's all you've got to do. Then, if nobody
claims it, you can send it home from Cairo
or Shawnee town. 'Twould come in handy
to your folks ; — let's see — there's ten,twenty,
thirty, forty, fifty dollars ; bully ! You can
get eastern bills fur it fur about a dollar ex-
tra, an' jest think how yer mother's eyes '11
stick out — ch ?"

i The tattooing operation began, and Mr.
Baker, doubting the accuracy of his own
I senses, speedily drank them into a condition
of utter quiescence.

CHAPTEll II.

IN WHICH THE HEUO FINDS AND LOSES ONK
OF HIS EARLIEST ^CQUAINTANCEH.

"Helen Douglas"
great river, and

Day by day the little
gallantly struggled up the
day by day the mystery of the after-deck
grew more absorbing. The roustabouts dis-
cussed in earnest undertones a subject which
was always dropped when the Parson came
within earshot. So absorbed was Mr, Fokey
in contemplation, that on one occasion, whilii
wooding up, and struck forcibly by a new

THE JERICHO ROAD.

theory, he with a shoulder full of wood, itep- j
ped to the other gang-plank on which Mr. {
Baker was descending ; the shock of the j
collision carried the wood and the two cen-
tldinon into the water floundering, in which |
element Forkey unburdened his soul to his
very profane companion. The excitement
ei tended to the firemen, and from them to
the engineers ; in the natural course of pro-
greaaiou it reached the mates, the jnlot, the
clerk ; linally it was noticed that the captain
himself, whenever tlie roustabouts were busy
forward, stared curiously at the Parson and i
his pet.

The Wabash river was finally reached, and
found to be more than bankful ; the boat i
might have sailed safely over the bottom- 1
lands wherever the timber was cut away. A ,
wicked thought struck Captain Bates and |
mado him gleeful ; he hurried up to the pilot- ;
house.

" Ben," said he to the pilot on duty, "the
river is way up." j

"Rather," said the pilot, as he put the |
boat's head toward tlie western shore to
avoid the current of a swoollen creek coming
iu on the other aide.

"Don't you b'leeve she could run thedam at i
Mount Zion, and dodge paying lock-charges?"
asked the Captain, offering the freedom of
his tobacco-plug to the pilot.

" Sliouldn't wonder," replied the pilot,
after scanning closely the trees on both banks
of the river. ,

" 'Twould have to bo done by daylight,
wouldn't it?" asked the Captain; " it's |
hardly a -afe risk to try it after dark." i

" Noti')i/y," said the pilot, with considera-
ble empliMsis. " If tliere's ever a time when
a man w/uits to see the water in front of him,
it's when he's runnin' a dam. We won't get
to Mount Zion till aliout midnight, an'
there's no moon."

" Whose watch 11 it be first thing in the
morning '.' ' asked the Captain.

" Mine," said the inlot.

" I'll ^ive you an extra twenty to do it,
Ben," said the Captain.

" Done r'said the pilot.

"Hooray !" shouted Captain Bates, spin-
ning on his heel and rubbing his hands joy-
ously. " We'll tie up at Mount Zion and
keep up an infernal whistlin' all nic;ht so the
lock-keeper '11 be afraid to go to bed ; then
in the morning we'll shoot right along under
his nose. Great Cmsar I ivon't he jump and
swear ?"

The pilot showed his teeth in grim appro-
Tal of the Captain's wicked mirth.

From midnight until daybreak the gentle
Helen lay at Mount Zion, shrieking and
howling through her whistles in a manner
which tormented the inhabitants of the town

as badly as they did the lock-keeper. To-
ward daybreak, however, both engineers
came on duty, all the roustabouts were
awakened, both mates and the Captain wer©
on deck, and the two pilots lounged over the
wheel. As soon as it became fairly light
the lines were cast off, and the gallant little
boat started on her darinu trip. Several
miles up the stream the locality of the dam
was indicated by a great white mill on one
side of the stream, and the lock on the other.
As the boat moved slowly against the rapid
current and decreased distance, a dark,
troubled line extending across the mill
showed that, despite the depth of water on
the dam, there was yet a perceptible fall j
the fcame fact was also indicated by a steady,
sullen roar.

"All forward I" shouted the Captain.
" Cot to keep her head down all we can, and
there's no Jreiijht to do it with. Evpri/body
forward — cooks, greasers, everybody I"

The roustabouts crowded to the jack-
staff.

" Looks nasty, Ben,' suggested the pilot
ofl" duty to his associate.

" Yes," replied ths sententious Benjamin.

" Must be a fall of nigh onto three feet —
don't you think it's dangerous ?" continued
the otli<;r pilot,

"Nary time," replied Ben, with a face
sufficiently white to give his words the lie.
' 'There's nothin' to do 1)U t get her head straight
and hold her to it. We'll go across as easy
as f allin' off a log. It's time to give me a
hand, now."

" "Trim boat !" shouted Captain Bates.
The t>vo mates caiefuUy disposed the men
and the coils of rope forward, until the
captain shouted :

" There ! she sits like a duck !"

By this time the dam was but

a hundred yards in front, and

though it was only a wall of water

about two feet iu height, most of the roust-

1 abouts forward looked as if they would

! rather be somewhere else, if possible, while

I the coloured cook and waiters seemed to

I grow ashy in visage.

j A moment more, and the boat was within
I twenty-five yards of the black, roaring
I wall.

j " Now — hold her to it !" growled Ben,
between his teeth.

" Steady !" shouted the Captain.

The boat staggered up — she seemed bare-
ly to creep — she trembled so violently that
her bell rang. Suddenly her head sheered
the least bit from her proper course, which
lay at an exact right angle with the line of
the dam. The effect was seemingly out of
proportion with the cause ; Instead of the
water being divided by the prow, and fol-

THE JKRICHO KUAl».

To-

lowing the ordinary water-line of the hull,
it struck the hull " quartering," turned the
boat's head still more, burst over tht low
■ guards i)eculiar to Western .steatnboats,
rushed with terriric force alongthe main deck,
snapped the sliglit supports of thecabin, and
caused the boat to careen violently ; in an
instant the entire upper works were carried
away as if they were a nieie l)ox, while the
hull, with the engine still working, drifted
down the river. *

Strangely enough, no one seemed hurt.
The Captain and oihcers (there were no pas-
sengers) were seen walking about on the
convenient raft which the upper works ati'ord-
ed ; while the crew, having all been for-
ward, had been outof the reach (»f the water
and apparently of fulling timl)er. \\'hen the
frightened men i-ccovered their wits, how-
ever +hey noticed that the IV-son was
double np near the capstan, an;l showed no
disposition to rise. Mr. Baker stooped,
looked carefully into his face, looked up.aml
remarked :

" He's goin' to kingdom come, boys :"

" Where's that ?" asked Slim, with wide-
open eyes.

" Into his coffin, young man ; if we ever
get ashore to buy one," said ]Slr. Baker, very
solenuily.

The green hand was on his knees beside the
Parson in a moment.

" You've been mighty kind to me," said
he, while a couple of big tears streamed
down his dirty face.

" Think so, boy ? " whispered the dying
man, smiling feebly.

" Yes," said Slim. " Everybody else has
giv me advice tiil I've been 'most crazy ; but
you've been a real friend — but I can't guess
why. "

" I'll tell ye," gasped the dyingman, pull-
ing at Slim's handas if he wouhl draw him
closer. Forkey bent his head as low as he
dared without seeming to listen, while Mr.
Baker hypocritically pretended to examine
tlie Parson's pulse ; " cos — I'm — vot'K

FATHER !"

The Parson's eyes closed, and a smile '
which a dying Christian might have envied,
came into liis face. The orphan, man as he
was, commenced to cry audibly, at which
Mr. Baker soothingly said, "Sh— — h," ])at-
ted the youth on the back, and then walked ;
abruptly aft, with his knuckles in his own
eyes.

* Lest any one not acquainted with Western
steamboat architecture should doubt the oroba-
bihty of this incident, I would say that 1 believe
itfoUows in allpaiticularsihe sti ry of the loss
of the "Helen Mar," in the Wabash river,
twenty years ago. Ohio river pilots remember
the case and its peculiarities.

I Thehull strandeil on an i.sland just below
Mount Zion, and it was proposed tlr t the
' Parson sheuld be interreil there. Mr.
Baker, however, who seemed to have as-
sumed charge of the deceased roustabout,
declared that he should liave a hand-
i some coffin and be l>uried in a regular
graveyard with a genuine parson to say the
word, and Mr. Baker had his way. He
was rather du'appi tinted when he learned
that a Hfe and drum, to peifornr a dead
march, would hardly be in order in a funeral
priicession, and tlnit the only Mount Zionite
capable of engraving cotiin-plates had con-
scientious scruples against engraving either
"Tlie Parson," or "Slim's Dad," in lieu of a
real name. The real name, however, was
obtained from the orpiian, ami all obstacles
to what Mr. Baker called a '"ri'g'lar buryin"
were overcome. The jtrocession was in ap-
pearance one that Mount Zion had never
seen tlie like of before ; and Mr. Baker and
the orphan, walking directly behmd the
minister, attracted unusual attention. When
the first shovelful of ilirt fell upon the
coffin-})ox, witli a liollow, sepulchral sound,
poor Slim utt(;red a j)itiful cry and fell on
liis kiites, and all bis companions trembled
and turnetl tlieir faces away.

CHAPTEK III.

UELINEATINO A IKHTAIX POrUI.AH IMI'RES.SIO-N
COXCEKNINC THE N'ATUUE Ol' HUMAN
SYMJ'ATHV.

Among the natives who were drawn to the
cemetery by the unusual appearance of the
funeral procession, was old Squire Barlcum.
The sentiments under whose influence the
Squire, who was the richest man inthetown,
had left his store in charge of a small boy
an<l followed the multitude, were several.
He was not devoid of curiosity, and excitants
of that (|ua!ity were so infrequent at Mount
Zion that the S(^uire felt moved by ordinary
prudence to make the most of every one
which presented itself. Then the Squire
was always willing to pray or sjieak at in-
formal gatherings of a semi-religious nature,
and he did not knttw but tliere might be some
call for such service at the grave. Lastly,
the Squire was human, and the Squire was
shrewd ; he knew that roustabouts some-
times had money, and that they freely spent
it when asked to do so; he knew of the dis-
aster to the boat, and imagined that the
men might have unusual need to raplace lost
personal property, and that his shelves would
be the proper place from which to obtain the
necessary articles. How to bestow a judici-

THE JERICHO ROAO.

ous word or two, not too oheerful for the oc- |
casion, and yet not at all doleful, the Squire !
very well knew ; and he did not doubt that |
by so doing a few of the roustabouts might !
be persuaded to step into his store on their
way back to the river.

The Squire was doomed to dis-
appointment, however ; the sobs of
the orphan were more tlian his com-
panions could hear unmoved ; so Mr.
Baker, first tiptoeing up to the mourner and
whispering, '^Co\nc down to the wreck when
you feel like it," rejoined his comrades, re-
marked "Ail aboard!" and led the party
rajiidly and en miuse back to the river.
Mf' of the native spectators folLjwed the
reti ig roustabouts, moved by the motive
which brought them to the cemeteiy; those
who hatl come from neighbouring houses
dropped away, until at last only the Squire
and the mourner remained. There are some
natures in which the religious sentiments are
excited by trouble or disappointment of any
sort, and the Sipiire's was one of them. He
ivpproached the kneeling boy, a step at a
time, as if he did it unconsciously, and when
at last Slim arose and turned himself about,
he found the Si^uire immediately in front
of him.

" You seem to have met with a pretty
serious loss," remarked the Squire. " Was
he your brother? — 'there's a friend that
sticketh closer than a ' " *

"He was my father," interrupted Slim,
again beginning to cry.

"Father, eh?" exclaimed the Squire.
" Well, that is bad — it must be very sor-
rowful. But there is one comfort — ' Like as
a father pitieth his children, so the Lord
pitieth them that fear him. ' Are you a be-
liever ?"

" A what ?" asked the boy.

" Are you a member of the cliuroh ?" said
the Squire, tianslating las question into the
vernacular.

"No," replied the mourner, Aviping his
eyes with his coat sleeve, " J ain't seen much
of churches, an' I don't know much about
religion."

" It's a great pity," said the Squire, " for
besides bein' for your everlastin' welfare,
'twould be a mighty comfort to you now.
VVas your father a jl^rfessor ?"

"A what?" asked Slim.

"A religious person," answered the
Squire.

"I reckon not," said Slim, after a mo-
ment's hesitation, during which he looked
far away at nothing in particular, "but he
was good. You needn't shake your head —
<ion't / know ? The good things that he's
done for me since I— since we've been to-
gether, are more'n 1 can tell. An' I would

have been so happy if I'd knowed — knowed
all about it," and again the poor orphan
burst into tears.

"I hope his good deeds '11 be imputed
unto him for righteousness," said the Squire.
"I wished he'd have stayed alive, an'
gone on a doin' of 'em," said the orphan.
" VVe might hev tuk care of the mother an'
the children so well, now we was together
an' knew all about everything, an' had work
to do. But now he's gone, an' I've got
nothin' to do again, an' I ain't strong or
good for much, an' the mother ain't very
well, an' the other children ain't big enough
to keep her much— I wish somethiu' would
kill all of us, too !"

The Squire at once put on a judicial air.
"Don't tiy in the face of Providence, young
man," said he. "God is very merciful ; he
might in justice have cut you down for such
a blasphemous wish. "

" Sposin' he had," exclaimed Slim,
"wouldn't I hev been better off? What's
the use of livin' when you can't be any use
to anybody ? Ef i/ou was nearly a thousan'
miles from where you was itaised, an' was all
to pieces from chills an' fever, an' worry, an'
ntit havin' had enough to eat, an' there was
somebody you loved needed lots done for
'em, an" thei'e was nobody but you to do
it, how would you feel ? '

The Squire did not answer directly, for
the simple reason that he could not imagine
himself in the physical condition alluded to,
and because, also, the desire to be practically
useful to any one besides himself was one
whicli he had never experienced except in
the most timid and conservative manner.
Now, however, as he looked upon the des-
pondent face before him — a face none the
less touching because it was so unhandsome
and feeble^ — he experienced a genuine desire
to help the orphan to accomplish the one
purpose of his life.

" I'd feel re;d bad," said the Squire, "and
I'm mighty sorry for yoic. AndFll help you
—that is," — for the Squire, frightened at
the sound of so unfamiliar a statement com-
ing from his own lips, was alrea<ly anxious
to modify the strength of his exjjression —
"that is, I'll try to help you if you seem to
be worthy of it — if you siiow that you really
deserve it. What's /our name ?"

" Lemuel Pankett," said the boy, with a
change of countenance that was almost
iiappy.

" How old are you ?"
"Nineteeu."

"Hum — you're small for your age," said
the Squire, " an' you don't look as if you
could do much. "

"Give me somethin' to try my hand at,"
exclaimed the boy, with such energy that

THE JERICHO ROAD,

the Squire unconsciously stepped backward
and fell over the grave of cue of the fore-
fathers of the hamlet. " I know I ain't big
an' strong, but I'll stick to a job for ever."

'• That's — the way — ^I — like to hear a man
— talk," said the 8quire, fragmentarily, as
he regained a vertical position. |

" Can you take care of horses ':" j

"Yes." I

" Make garden ?"

^' Yes — I always took care of motlier's."

"Milk cows?"

•*0h, yes."

" Mow, an' riiake hay ?"

" Yes, hay was the main crop where 1
canie from."

"I guess you can't cut wood V" interro-
gated the Squire.

" 1 can, though," replied Pankett. " 1
can't do it as fast as some, but then, again, 1
can do it faster than others."

"Well," said the Squire, "111 tell you
what I'll do. I'll give you your board an'
lodgin' for a week, sa.} , till 1 see what you
can do ; then, if you suit me, I guess we can
come to terms about pay."

The boy grasped the Squire's hand, and
looked gratefully into his face, but the good
man exclaimed rather impatiently :

"Nevermind about that — you do your
best, and I'll be your friend. "

Whether from fear that the roustabouts
would, missing their companion for too long
a time, come back to search for him, or
whether he wished to hide his own good
deeds from his fellow merchants, the Scjuire
took his new acquaintance home by a cir-
cuitous and almost secluded route. Then,
while hungry, sorroM'ful, friendless Lemuel
Pankett was dining in the Squire's kitchen,
his benefactor and that good man's w ife con-
vers'Sd together in an adjacent room.

" What you wanted to bring home such a
shadder for, / can't see," said the lady.

" It is our duty to help the fatherless in
their 'ffliction, the good book says, Mar-
g'ret," the Squire replied.

" It says ' visit' 'em, not help 'e»i,'"' re-
torted Mrs. Barkuni.

"Well, he can milk a cow," snid the
Squire. Then, as his wife looked critically
through a crack of the door at Lemuel, the
Squire continued, "and he can make garden,
an' mow the medder, an' cut wood."

" What have you got to pay him ?" as'ied
Mrs. Barkum.

"Nothin'j" replied the squire, "that is,
nothin' for a week. An' I won't have to pay
him much after that — he hasn't had much
work to do for a long time, and he'll jump at
anything."

"That's better'n I expected," remarked
Mrs. fiarkura.

"What makes you say that, Marg'ret ?"
asked the Squire, with more asperity in his
tone than became a model husband. " T>o I
generally make liad bargains ?"

" No, Squire, you don't — I will say that
you're the Itest trader in the county. But
what could I think when you bring a fellow
home with t/iaf. appetite in the nuddle of the
morning '! An' then for you to go misquotin'
bible about it, too I"

" W^ell, xMarg'ret, 'twas a kind tiling to do,
now — that's as sure's your alive. An we'll
get our reward for it. I meant to do him a
kindness when I fust spoke to him, an' for a
minute I didn't think about gettin' anything
back. But, you see, 'twas perfectly safe."

"That's so," assented Mrs. Barkuni.
" 'Cast thy bread upon the waters, an after
many days it'll return to you again. ' It's a
powerful sight of bread, though— he's a eatin'

yet."

The Squire looked through fhe crack him-
self, and remarked -.— "Well, he can't ])e ex-
pected to go on like that always. Besides,
I'll set him to work right after he gets
through— the ]joi,atoes need hoein' the very
worst way. But say, Marg'ret, dont it make
one feel good to do a kind action to a fellow
crittur ?"

" Yes, Aaron, it does," responded Mrs.
Barkum, "specially when you don't have to
be afraid that mebbe 'twon't come out right
after all, as you do when you give a dollar to
the Missionary Society or the Bible .Society.
Why can't he shake the carpets '! That's a
job that's been waitin to be done these three
months. "

"Of course he can do it," said the Squire;
" we must both see to it that he ain't ever
idle. I'tl feel awful if I thought I'd ever en-
courage anybody to waste precious time.
There's one thing I meant to tell you,
though ; he ain't a l)eliever — we must have
him in at prayers, niornin' an' night."

Mrs. Barkum reflected a moment. "I don't
see how he can do that very well," said she;
" it'll break right into whatever he's doin'
half the time, an' that ain't right. Besides,
I don't know 'bout throwin' away prayers
on them that don't (;are for 'em. Nobody
can come to (i«d unless the sperrit draws
'em — 'pears to me 'twould be t.akin' the
Lord's bizness out of His own hands."

" I don't know but you're right there,
Marg'ret," said the Squire. "There, now,
he's done- I'll set him at the potatoes at
once. It's a wicked world, though, like as not,
just as we get him just as we want him,
somebody '11 come along an' ofter him bigger

pay"

" Well, we can only hope for the best, an'
have faith in the promises," sighed Mrs,
Barkum, "There — just as I expected — he's

THK JERICHO ROAD.

helpiii' himself to more bread and butter. I
wish you'd gone when you said j'^ou would,
an' put him to work."

" Another slice of bread ain't mucsh, with
flour only two an' a half cents a pound," re-
plied the Sfjuire, starting fo- the door. " I'm
so happy over an opportunity for doin' good,
that I don't grudge him the slice — 'twon't
take him more than five minutes to eat it.
Folks won't think we're stingy now, Mar-
g'ret, will they? I don't know' anybody in
town that ever done so mucli for a man be-
fore. We nnist be humble about it, though."

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH THE HERO IS PUNISHED FOH AP-
PRECIATINl} THE MERITS OF HIS BEST
FRIEND.

During th'e month which followed the con-
versation recorded in the preceding chapter,
the good iS(]uire and his wife succeeded in
so allotting the time of their dependant that
they had not tlie slightest cause to fear that
they would encourage him in habits of idle-
ness. Lemuel rose at five, made a tire in
the kitchen stove, put the kettle on the tire,
fed the pigs and chickens, brouuht in the
tirewoo(l and milked the cow ; then, while
the S(|uire and his wife ate their breakfast,
he hurried to the Squire's store and took
down the shutters— a task to which the
small boy, who was the Squire's only clerk,
was not e(pial. Then he ate his breakfast,
generally after receiving the information that
Mrs. Barknm was in a great hurry to have
some potatoes dug, a chicken killed and

f)icke(i, or some errand performed. After
)reakfast he cliopp^'d wood with consider-
able haste, knowing that the Squire ex-
pected his assistance at the store. Reaching
the store, he received, weighed, and stored
in the warehouse such heavy or bulky arti-
cles—corn, wlieat, oats, feathers, l)eans,
hams, etc, — which country customers paid
in trade for goods ; mixed in a migiity
mortar, with a pestle, the varioiis qualities
of butter which came from the same sort of
customers ; weighed nails and other articles
unpleasant to handle ; measured tar ; caught
from a teamster tlie bricks w'nich were being
delivered to build an extension to the store ;
mixed molasses-settlings with brown sugar,
to give weight to the latter ; and, when there
■ was nothing else to do, white- washed the
sheds, chopped wood to satisfy the winter
demand of the stoves in the store, and dug
at the cellar for the pi-oposed addition. In
the afternoon his duties were changed only
M to their order ; the closing hour of day-

usually spent in
however, he was
that Sunday might

light was devoted again to the pigs, the cows^
and the domestic wood-pile, aft^r which he
again went to the store and polished rusty
hardware in the back room until the Squire
thought it too lace for another customer to
come in ; then Lemuel put up the shutters,
carried home the account-books of the store
(for tire-proof safes were unknown at Mount
Zion), and went to bed. He never showed
any indications of a desire to avoid work,
and the good Squire and his wife seconded
his industrious endeavours by always pro-
viding in advance enough work to make it
impossible that he should be temporarily
idle.

It quite naturally followed that Lemuel
haileci the approach of the Sabbath with a
gladness which would have been creditable
to the most sincere Christian, and that such
time as he did not spend at church (about at-
tendance at which theSquire was persistent),
was passed in a recumbent position in the
hay-loft of the Squire's barn. Friends he
somehow failed to make ; he was neither
liandsome, rich, accomplished, nor eloquently
vulgar, so no one courted his society; he was
destitute also of that useful social quality
known as "push. " So his spare time was
solitude. Even then,
conscious of a longing
come at least twice a
week— perhaps oftencr. He grew thinner
and more hollow-eyed than he was when
he came to the Squire, and contracted a
stooping posture when standing or walking.
I The chills, which he, like every one else at
■ Mount Zion, had with unpleasant frequency,
j did not make it any easier for him to meet
I the steady demands which were made upon
I his s.treiigth. But the thought of the eight
' dollars which the Squire had agreed to J-'ay
: hiin monthly, and which was to be * so
much use to tiie little family of which he
i w;is the head, kept him steadily at work.
j The Squire never ceased to congratulate
I himself on the steadiness and cheapness of
I hi new assistant, and upon the truly Chris-
] tian sentiment to the exercise of which he
attributed the improved condition of the
j young man. When speaking to his Avife
I of the proiit which accrued from Lemuel's
I services, the Squire occasionally interjected
I a sentence which was religious in form and
I self-laudatory in spirit ; when he talked
with others, however, he made mention only
of the religious and charitable feelings with
which he regarded Lemuel. «

" I hate to see a feller-bein' sutTer,"
Squire would remark. "It would be
enough to have given the poor chap a
lar, an' made it all light with your
science. But what's a dollar to a poor, help-
less feller like that ? Like enough he d

the
easy
dol-
con-

THE JERICHO ROAD.

the
easy
dol-
con-
help-
heM

have spent it for whiskey, au' treated the
whole crowd. What he needed was a home,
and to be took out of bad company an' be
taught to work, and have ^ jod influences
arounc^ him. It mayn't ali show out on
him at once what I'm tryin' to do for him,
but it'll tell. It costs money to keep a man
like that, an' pay him wages, too, so that he
can keep his mother, but I'll trust to the
Lord for my pay — this isn't the only world
there is. "

Such expressions were generallj' received
by the Squire's auditors with that respect
which is usually accorded to the ut-
terances of rich men. There were certain
sons of Belial, however, and not a few of
the Squire's religious associates, who in
the privacy of their hearts wondered how
much the Squire would really have done for
Fankett if he had expected his remunera' 'on
only in the next world. Not all of these
doubters of the Squire's disinterestedness
held their peace ; the villapje postmaster and
the Squire's principal business competitor—
a pair of men who disagreed upon religion,
politics, and public improvements — came in-
to spirited accord on the subject of the
Squire's treatment of Lemuel.

" He's making money out of the boy just
AS he does out of everybody else," said the
postmaster ; "I pay my man fifteen dol-
lars, and he don't d<' More than half as much
work, and yet he's a good man. "

" Yes," said the storekeeper, gazing sor-
rowfully upon an ex-custonier of his own,
who was going into the Squire's store, "he
don't need to expect anything <iut of tlie
Lord for that little job. By rights he ought
to give some benevolent society the differ-
ence between what he t^ives that poor fellow
and what he gets out of him."

" Societies be smashed !" exclaimed the
postmaster, " he ought to pay tlie boy
what he's worth. Why don't you go tell
him so ?"

"I would," said the merchant, looking a
bit uncomfortable, " but 'twould be just
like him to pay me off by trying to toax off
some of my customers. Why don't you do
it yourself ?"

*' Well," said the postmaster, starting
and pausing as if he heard the horn of the
approaching mail-carrier, " I wouldn't like
anything better, but he's got a little mort-
gage on my house, and 'twould be easy for
him to make me trouble if he took a notion
to ask for the princi]ml all of a
sudden. But there's plenty of folks in
this town that he hasn't got any hold on —
why don't they give him a piece of their
mind ?"

The people referred to were many, for
Mount Zion had a thousand oi more inhabi-

tants ; they held substantially the views of
the postmaster and the merchant, but the
minds of most of them experienced sufficient
relief from the act of expressing their opin-
ions to their intimate acquaintances. Men
who needed no help and treated their labourers
well spoke of the Squire as a brute, and of
Lenmel as a victim, but they never offered
the victim the work which they had to pay
some one to do, and which he was so able to
perform. One of the Squire's official breth-
ren privately informed some one, who pri-
vately informed the village, that he had
been so haunted by the poor boy's face, that
he had wrestled in prayer to the Lord for
him, but he never ottered the Lord any
assistance in the work of remedying the
wrong which he had so eloquently exphiined
upon his bended knees. The Squire's own
pastor was so moved by Lem's forlorn condi-
tion, that he made a special trip to the do-
mestic wood-pile that he might speak to the
sufi'erer of the Friend that sticketh closer
than a brother, but he never approached his
wealthy parishioner with the words of ex-
hortation andrebulce which he had solemnly
covenanted to bestow when necessary. The
village doctor was firmly of the opinion that
Leni could not last long in the course of life
he was leadmg, and he said as much to the
Squire, but when tliat good man anxiously
asked what was the matter Mith his protege,
the doctor turned coward and to()k refuge
in a technical explanation of Lem's condi-
tion, which satisfied the Squire that ha had
nothing to do with it. One old woman, in-
deed, who had a hal)it of talking freely to
whoever she met, unburdened her mind so
freely to the S([uiie, that he wished she
would transfer her custom to some other
store, and he exiiressed his wish in vigorous
English.

And still Lem worked hard and grew
steadily weaker. The only practical sympa-
thy and assistance he received was from men
of a class which is not famous for improving
the physical and moral well-being of hu-
manity. These men spent considerable time
in the two or three liquor shops, which were
not lacking even in a town of so excellent a
name a's Mount Zion. Most of the fre-
quenters of these shoy)s regarded all varieties
of work with loathing and horror ; they
were not devoid of sympathy ; they recog-
nized but one remedy for any physical or
mental ill, so they s>iowed their feeling for
Lem by occasionally inviting him to
drink. He never declined ; the fiery
draughts which he swallowed gave him nearly
all the strength, comfort and hap[»ines8
which he experienced, and he soon learned to
rely upon them.

When the S(iuire learned that his man-of-

THE JERICHO ROJD.

all-vork was in the habit of drinking, he was
tilled with righteous indignation, and straight-
way summoned the offender into his pre-
sence :

** Ijemuel," said he, holding aloft the yard-
stick in the manner in which he supposed
King Solomon held his sceptre when acting
in his judicial capacity, "I understand
you've took to drink. Don't deny it —
Micham allows it's so, and h.id the im-
pudence to defend himself for sellin' you
the liquor, an' you for drinkin' it. He's in-
sulted me as I've never been insulted in
my life before. He lays all the blame on
mr. Now, was it to brine you up a drunk-
ard that I took you when you hadn't a friend
in the world?'

Lem turned pale, his knees shook, and he
opened his mouth and eyes appealinglj.

"I see you own up," said the inquire, after
a lofty but severe scrutiny of Lem's face.
"But 1 never exp< -ed that any one I'd
befriended would abuse vie like you've
done."

*'Why,I hain't saida word or done a thing,"

declared the contrite Lemuel. "I "

"Don't you call it anything for a member
of my family, as yoii are, to disgrace me an'
my profession by goin' into rum-shops — the
verj' gateways of hell — an' poisonin' their
bodies an' ruinin' their souls by drinkin'
whiskey ? Of course folks blame me for it —
they wonder why I was such an old fool as
to take up with anybody that had such faults
in 'em, and let 'em go on in their evil ways."
"Why, vSquire," pleaded Lem, "every-
body knows you didn't tell me to drink ;

but "

"But you just went an' wasted your
money that way, after pretendin' to me that
you wanted to send your mother ev'ry cent
you could raise," interrupted the Squire.
"Do you call that the way to tell the truth
to a man that wants to help you along ?"

"I didn't think it was goin' to bother you,"
said Lem, "if I drank when I needed to.

it's "

"Needed to !" echoed the Squire, with
savage energy. " Well ! I never thought
anybody in m;/ family would say they needed
to pour whiskey down their throats. But
that ain't answerin' my question. Is that
the way you're goin' to waste the money you
pretended you wanted to send vour mo-
ther?"

" I didn't pretend," asserted Lem ; "I
meant just what I said, an' I keep a-sertd-
in'. I only take a drink when I need it.
Dad used to take a drink sometimes when
he felt weak ; and he never got drunk,
neither. "
The Squire shook his head, and seemed to I

go into a reverie. "Your father drank, eh ?"
said he at length as he raised his head. "If
I'd known /7i«^ on the day that you buried
him, I wouldn't have done what I did."

Lem's pale face Huslied and his bent back
straightened. "If you've got anything to say
agin' him," said he, "you can find some one
else to say it to— I'll leave. I've done the
best I could since I worked for you ; an' if
I'd knowed it would have bothered you, I'd
have done my drinkin' on the sly. But I
won't hear any man say a woi d again my
father — I'll thrash him first, or I'll try to
mighty hard !"

The Squire understood the profitableness of
diseretion as well as any one; and, besides, he
honestly enjoyed the contemplation of any
displays of virtue which were unattended by
expense to himself. So he dropped the
yardstick, assumed a placatory, confidential
air; and said:

"Don't get mad, Lemuel. 1 like to see a
man stick up for his father — it does you
credit. 'Honour thy father and thy mother/
says the good book, an' that decision is final.
But your father made a mistake— all men
make mistakes of some kind — he made a
mistake when he thought whiskey helped him
'At last it biteth like a serpent and stingeth
like an adder,' the same good book says.
If you don't feel as stout as you'd like to,
chew a pinch of tea or coffee, but don't take
liquor. I won't charge you anything for
'em — unless you'd like to buy a quarter of a
pound of either an' keep 'em handy in your
pocket, in case you want to use 'em. An'
pray for strength— //t«^ kind of help don't
cost a cent. There — don't think any more
about it. By the way, I agreed to deliver a
couple of barrels of flour at the hotel before
three o'clock, an' its pretty near that time
now. Be lively about it ; you'll have to take
'em on the wheel-barrow, for there don't
seen? to be any teams handy. An' I guess
you'll have to get 'em out of the warehouse
yourself, for I'm all alone here just now."

CHAPTER V.

IN WHICH CAUSE FOLLOWS EFFECT IN A MAN-
NER PERFECTLY NATURAL.

When Squire Barkum repeated to his help-
meet the substance of his conversation with
Lem, that excellent lady was greatly excited,
and insisted upon the discharge of the de-
praved youth.

"It's always the way," she groaned,
hastily swallowing a cup of tea to raise her
spirits. " You take up these strange people
an' try to make somethin' of 'em. I know
my father took such a fellow once in Con-
necticut, an' took him when he was just a

THE TERICHO ROAD.

15-

little boy, too, before he'd had a chance to
learn bad habits. He made him so smart
that 'fore he was twelve years old he could
do a man's work at plowin' or mowin. ' An'
what thanks did he get ? Why, that boy
took to smokin', an' then he drank, an' 'fore
he was of age he wasn't good for anything !
You ought to turn Lem away, Squire ; he
wjn't be good for anything if he drinks. "

" Well," said the Squire, " I don't think
'twould be right to send him away to perish
in his sins. As long as he seems willin' to
try to do better, 'twouldn't be Christian to
refuse him a chunce. Besides, he's mighty
handy — why, Purkiss told me the other day
that Lem was worth Uvo of his man, and he
pays fifteen dollars a month. "

Mrs. Barkum ate with unusual rapidity
for a moment or two, and then sh© re-
marked :

"I wouldn't hold you back from what
you think is your duty. Squire, but v/hat I
■ay is just this. Don't let's throw away our
money on ungrateful folks. When he gets
to be — Gracious!'*

The last word was spoken with such per-
fect dramatic intonation and expression that
the Squire dropped his knife and fork; he
also dropped his lower jaw and started back
in his chair. Mrs. Barkum unconsciously
transfixed him with a stare, and finally ex-
claimed :

"Just the thing ! I've got it !"

The Squire recovered his equilibrium and
gazed enquiringly upon his spouse, who again
exclaimed:

" I've got it !"

Then the Squire found his own voice, and
remarked, not without a suspicion of petu-
lance:

"I'm glad to hear it, Marg'ret. but you
needn't hold on to it so tight."

The lady affected not to notice the spirit
in which her husband's words were uttei-ed,
but she kept him in suspense for at least
three minutes before she asked:

" Ain't it about time for the next annual
temperance meet — "

" I TOW !" interrupted the Squire. ** So
it is. An' 'twon't be my fault if he don't
sign the pledge. Let's see — the meetin'
comes off in about two weeks, an' I know
the lecturer that's comin'; now, I'll just
write him an' ask him if he can' put in some-
thin' to hit drinkers that's the only support
of their parents — that's Lem's weakest spot,
you know. But oh, Marg'ret, do you ever
wonder why the Lord let's folks get a love
for such soul destroyin' stuff as liquor ?"

"That I do." replied Mrs. Barkum, with
great earnestness. " ' His ways are inscrut-
able an' past tindin' out.' There's one com-
fort, though — if Lem's elected to destruction,

we can't alter the Lord's will, an' we can't be
blamed for not tryin'."

" That's so,'" assented the Squire, "but
we ain't to be supposed to work against the
will of Providence if we keep the boy out of
temptation as much as possible. I must
keep him busier, so he don't get a chance to
loaf into rum-shops — that's a clear p'lnt of
duty that I've been remiss about."

During the ensuing fortnight the Squire
displayed such unusual interest in the ap-
proaching temperance meeting that the com-
mittee which had the' matter in charge at-
tempted to secure from him a subscription
auxilliary to the dollar which he annually
gave toward the defraying of the expenses of
the meeting. In this effort the committee
was utterly unsuccessful, but the Squire ex-
plained that he objected only on principle —
j he did not believe in giving so much that
j other people would feel that there was no
need for them "to give. He was willing,
j though, to do more than his share in on ;
I way — he would give the services of his man
I Lem to distribute the circulars which were
\ always sent out as final reminders on the
i afternoon preceding the evening of the meet-
! ing.

1 The committee accepted the Squire's oflFer,
and the Squire urged them to have plenty of
circulars. That same evening, at his family
altar, the Squire returned fervent thanks to
Heaven for the opportunity which had been
given him in which to let his feeble light
shine. During the days which remained
the Squire employed his spare moments in
tracing on a county map a route by which as
many persons as possible could be reached by
the circulars. "It'sagood deed, Marg'ret," he
explained to his wife," "an' folks won't
think none the less of us, nor come any
seldomer to our store to trade, when they see
whose man it is that leaves the circulars. It
must be a good twenty mile — back an' forth
an' out — that I have marked out for him, an'
it'll take him about all day, after he's done
the chores, to do the job, but I don't b'lieve
we'll lose a cent by it."

The fiua? day arrived, and Lem, with a
hearty Godspeed from the Squire, and a
pressing injunction to hurry, so as to be back
in time to attend to his household duties be-
fore the time for meeting to open, started on
his route. The day was hot, and the pack-
age of circulars was not small, but Lem
started with a brisk step. He displayed a
more cheerful face than was usual with him.
The unusual nature of the labour afforded a
pleasant change, and the Squire's remarks
upon the honourable nature of the duty before
him had touched a responsive chord in the
young man's heart.

Towards evening it seemed evident that

THE JERICHO KOAD,'

111 !

Lem had done hi« duty quite thoroughly.
Besides the few people who always came
from adjacent settlements to such meetings,
the roads were full of a class of surburbau
settlers who had, for about the first time in
their lives, received a circular at their own
doors.

The Squire noticed the crowd, and was
glad. The absence of Lem had resulted in
the Squire's doing at his store a great deal
more work than had been necessary to him
of late, and a new sense of the worth of Lem,
and a sense, also, of the greatness of that
self-abnegation which liad prompted him to
lend his man to the committee, had not been
sufficient to keep the Squire's temper at a
proper degree of sweetness. As work de-
creased, however, and the effects of the cir-
culars multiplied rapidly and visibly, the
small boy wlio assisted the Squire, heard his
employer softly sing.

" Shall I be carried to the skies

On flowery beds of ease,
Whilst ot'iers fight to win the prize.

And 8.. 11 through bloody seas}"

Looking out on the princij)al road which
led to tlie country, the Squire noticed that
something caused people to stop, tempora-
rily, on tiieir way. Several boys seemed to
be standing about in contemplative attitudes,
and the Squire noticed that a woman
was cutting ■ from a roadside thicket some
boughs, whiah she stuck into the ground
between the boys and the sun, which was
still an hour or more high. The Squire
wondered what could be going on, but as
the incoming people, before reaching hisstore,
turned from the main road and toward the
church in which the meeting was to be held,
the Squire found no one whom he could
question. But business was dull at that
particular hour, and as the Squire was en-
titled to a platform seat at the meeting, and
was not, therefore, in a hurry to get to his
supper, he concluded to visit personally the
scene of the excitement. As he reached the
corner where the people turned off, hecaught
fragments of the nature of comments.

" No use to try to do any thing with such
— " he heard from Colonel Burt, as that
warrior's buggy whisked round the corner.

" — An example to, Georgie," came from
the lips of Mrs. Farmer Perry, as she jogg-
ed by on horseback, with her half-grown son
on a blanket behind her.

" Some folks are nothing but animals ;
sympathy is only wasted on tliem," said
ex-Judge Bowler, of a neighbooriiig
township, across his shoulder to his two
Bweetfaced, dim-eyed daughters, who occu-
pied the back seat of liis carriage. The
Squire quickened his pace.

" — Infernal shame, but what can anybody
do?" roared Farmer Bates at his family, who
tilled the straw-covered bottom of his great
farm-waggon.

" — Good ducking — " was all the Squire
heard, as two successful farmers galloped by
on horseback, and then the Squire heard a
man (from whom he had once endured some
harsh epithets after selling ^him a horse)
say :

" Let the old scoundrel that's to blame
make the matter light."

A few steps further, &j-^<^ the Squire's anx-
iety was changed to S( c. jw and anger, for
there, in the shade of the boughs, with hia
head on a pile of undistributed circulars, lay
the Squire's man, Lem, dea<l drunk.

CHAPTER VL

THE HERO EXPLAINS.

The temperance meeting was exceptionally
successful ; the largest church .at Mount
Ziou was crowded, even to the M'indow sills.
The Mount Zion brass band was there and
discoursed lively music ; some spirited solos,
were sung by a professional temperance glee
quartette ; the lecturer uttered a powerful
address, and though the Squire regretted
that Lem could not hear tlie portion which
had been prepared with special view to hia
case, he could not help being pleased by the
dexterous manner in which the lecturer had
made use of his sugg.^gtions. When the
pledges were passed, signatures were nu-
merous ; many of the boys who had seen
Lem lying by the roadside, needed no urging
to pledge themselves to abstain from intoxi-
cating liquors of every soi t ; while not a few
moderate drinkers of g'-eat .age had been by
Lem's condition so impres-sed with the pos-
sible results of habitual drinking, that their
names .appeared upon the pledg , with a fre-
quency which no one had dared to expect.

While the pledges were still being circu-
lated, and just after a tremendous effort by
the brass band, there w.as an unusual com-
motion among the small boys on the pulpit-
steps ; a moment later the form of Squire
Barkum appeared on the platform. First
whispering to , the chairman of the meeting,
the Squire advanced to the front .and congh-
ed impressively. The audience subsided
into ah ordinary quiet, and .the Squire lifted
up his voice.

" My friends," said he, " I didn't expect
to say anything at this meetin' ; on any
other occasion I should feel as if my feeble
words would be of no use after the powerful

THE JERICHO ROAD.

pos-

their

a fre-

ect.

circu-

ort by

com-
ulpit-
5quire

First
eting,
ongh-
jsided

lifted

xpect
any
feeble
verful

lecture we've all listened to. But out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh,
my friends ; an' my lieart in full, an' it isn't
with joy either. A few months ago I picked
up a poor fellow who was in great distress,
and who I thought might be a proper and
deserving object of charity. I took him to
my own house, my friends ; I fed him ; I
supplied him with money to send to his
mother's family, which is dependent upon
him for support ; I treated him just as I'd
have treated my own son, if I'd had one.
But I found out one day that he had an appe-
tite for liquor. . 1 felt like sendin' him away
at once, but that didn't seem a Chris-
tian thing to do ; so 1 reasone*! with him,
and pleaded with him, and rebuked him, an'
showed him both the natural and the spere-
tual way of overcomin' his adversary. I
even, to inspire his heart on the subject of
temperance, gave him his whole time to-day
to pass around the circulars of this rneetin'.
But, alas ! my friends, some of you know
what's on my heart — a few hours ago I found
that young man lyin' blind drunk by the
side of the road. Of course I can't keep such
a person about me ; but I want to say, my
friends, that I'll be sustained through my
disappointment and sorrer if I can feel that
my loss is somebody else's gain."

•' It'll be Lem's gain, sure as shootin',"
shouted a voice, evidently disguised, from
the gallery. A few thoughtless young peo-
ple tittered, and suppressed emotion was
noticeable even in the countenances of many
citizens who had hitherto borne excellent
reputations, but the Squire disregarded all
these unkind manifestations, and continued :

"It'll be for the
they'll learn from my

gain of everybody if
experience that the
love of drink makes men evil-minded, an'
thankless, an' unnatural, an' ungateful, an'
unmindful of the tenderest ties, an' ' '

" I ain't none of them things," shouted a
voice from somewhere near the door. The
audience hastily rose and looked around, and
those who mounted the benches saw, in the
rear of the centre aisle of the church, the
short, thin figure — apparently shorter and
thinner than ever — of the Squire's man-of-
all-work.

" Drunk !"— " Put him out !"— " Shame-
ful !" — " Outrageous !" and other cries arose
from the audience. The Squire turned to
the chairman and exclaimed :

" Mr. Chairman, I want to know if a
member of this Society is to be interrupted
by an outsider, an' one who's just disgraced
this whole community ?"

" Certainly not," replied the chairman
(who had been a member of the State Legis-
lature), springing to his feet. " No one but

members of the Society are entitled to the
privileges of the floor."

Bill Fussell, a rising young lawyer, and
one of the members who had circulated the
pledge among the audience, elbowed his way
hastily to Lem's side, thrust a pencil and
paper into Lem's hand, and then shouted :

" Mr. Chairman, Lemuel Pankett is legally
a member of this Society, having just signed
the pledge, which is the only condition of
full membership."

" He's drunk !" roared the Squire. " Is
this meetin' to be insulted by such a pieee
of chicanery ? Who sets any importance by
what a man does when he's drunk ?"

" Mr. Chairman," exclaimed the vil-
lage doctor, rising to his feet, "the
man is not drunk— I make this state-
ment professionally, having had Pankett
under my care for several hours. He has
not fully recovered from the effects of the
liquor he has drunk, perhaps, but he is men-
tally in that condition intermediate between
drunkenness and consequent mental depres-
sion — a condition which, in men of his organi-
zation, is marked by unusual mental
activity. "

The chairman again arose. ' ' The opinion
of Dr. Beers demands respect," said he, "and
Mr. Pankett must tlierefore be recognized as
a member in full standing. But the Hoor of
tlie society is not the place for recrimination
and personal explanations ; Mr. Pankett cau-
not, therefore, be allowed to proceed. "

Again Bill Fussell anproaclied Lem, and a
bystander with acute ears heard the young
lawyer whisper :

" Apologize- •=(ay you want to speak a few
words about a .irunkard's experience — thta
he can't rule you out. "

Lem jumped upon a chair, thrust his
hands through his hair, and exclaimed:

" Mr. Chairman, I'm sorry for disturbin'
the meetin'; I'm an ignorant man, an' I don't
know much about rules an' regelations. But
mebbe there's some people here that want
to know how awful it is to be drunk, an'
ciiere's nobody in the room that has had later
information about it than I have. "

Auditor who had not yet stood upon their
benches and chairs hastened to do so ; one
person of short stature was even so curious
that he gave a silver quarter to a smaU boy
standing on a crowded window-sill to ex-
change places with him. Lem continued :

" I made up my mind a week ago to jine
the temp'rance society this very night, an'
I'm glad I've been able to do it. This morn-
in' I started out to carry around the ciroulam
of the meetin', an' just doiu' that made me
feel right happy — it reely did. I got alontf
right well till nigh about noon, an' then 1
begun to feel tuckered out. 'Twas awful

• I

THK JKHlcnO HOAl).

hot wherever the siiu wasn't ah.aded an' I
lM;gun to foel light-headed an'onstiddy in my
legs. An' yet I wasn't half done. After I
got my dinner I didn't feel as if I ever ronhl
stand np an' Malk around the rest of the
way. Then 1 thouglit of how good a drink
of whiskey would make me feel for two or
three hours ; after that \ couldn't think
alKHxtanythijig else — my knees, an' my head,
»n' my l)aek, an' every part of me just seem-
ed to beg for whiskey. I'd told the fellers at
the gr.icety a week before that I was goiu'to
swear oil, so I was :',shamed to go there an'
drink, 'specially when they knew I was
carryin' round the circulars, so I went in the
hack door of the grocery, an' mad'" up a lie
about the cow lipvin' a lame leg, an' 1 bought
half a pint f whiskey in a bottle to rub it
with. I drank some as soon as I could on
the sly, and ther. 1 aot along the road nicely,
Jind didn't feel shaky a ))it for two or three
hours ; when i did feel peaked again, I took
some more, an' 1 went over every road the
Squire marked out for me, but the minute 1
knowed the work was all done there didn't
seem to be a bit of life left in me — I tried
to walk to where there was shade, so I could
rest, but my eyes growed dazy, an' I shook
all over, an' the next I remember I was on
the doctor's liack stoop with my head all
wet, an' he a holdin' a bottle of somethin'
•wful Inirnin' to my nose. An' if anyl>ody
here knowed how my heart was thumpin'
now, an' how my face seemed all on fire, an'
how- awful 'shamed an' good for nothin' I
feel in my mind, he wouldn't ever touch a
drop as long as he lived. "

A perfect tempest of applause went up from
the audience as these last words escapetl the
speaker — even the Squire was seen to clap
his hands. Lem proceeded as far as "An'
afi to l)eiu' ungrateful — " when the chairman
rapped vigorously and shouted,
"Personalities are not in order."

Bill Fussell plucked at Lem's shoulder and
dreM' his head down. "Put it some other
way," he whimpered. Lem scratched his
head, bit his lips, wrinkled his brows, and
burst out crying ; subduing his feelings by a
violent eftort, he resumed :

" An' if there's anybody here, Mr. Chair-
man, that's got anybody else dependin' on
'em for a livin', I just want to tell 'em that
the awfuUest thing to think about when a
feller's been drunk is, that besides wastin'
his money, he's spoiled himself for a full
day's work for two or three days to come.
If there's anybody he wants to please, he
knows he can't be fully up to the mark un-
til he's got all over his spree. If there's any-
thing he's got on his mind that he ought to
do, an' is miser.'ible until he does it, it's all

the same — he couldn't do it if he was to die
for it. When a man gets over his spree, he
tliinks more al)out wha'. he ought to do, an'
what ho hain't done, than he could (h) in a
month of sol)er days."

Loin jumped oil' his chair, the audience
^'avo vent to u tgtor.n of ilelight, and the
chairman stopped up to the Squire, who still
st'iod upon the platform, and whispered :

" He said it, after all, Scjuire — and he
means it, too."

But the Squire was not fully satisfied.
To have a speech — the only one he had ever
nuulc outside of a church meeting — so com-
pletely upset as his had been, and to have
the moral effect of the speech so utterly set
aside, was very provoking. The Squire
mentally noted the names of such of the ap-
plauders as owed him money, with the in-
tention of dunning them without mercy at
an early date ; then he said :

"MenAare been converted to religion on
their d*ia,th-beds, an" I don't say it can't be
done in tne temperance cause. But / won't
have sufl'ered any less, and the lesson ain't
any less to be remembered. But" — here
a happy thought struck the Squire with such
force tliat his rather uncomely face was com-
pletely irradiated by it — "but I wouldn't be
a stumblin'-block to such people ; an' as the
person that spoke last seems to be in earne-it,
I'm willin' to forget A\ the feelin's I've had
about him, an' treat liim just as if nothing
had ever happened."

Part of the better class of people in the
audience applauded ; others looked quizzical
or doubting ; while from the boys in the
gallery came the single expression "Ah !"
with an intonation and a volume that caused
the Squire to tremble and retire.

C'Sca
in tl
encd
well
thus

CHAPTER VII.

THE INNOCENT SUFFERS FOR THE UUILTV.

„ After the close of the temperance meeting
the newest member of the Society hastened
to his home. Finding to his delight that the
milk-pans were full, that there was plenty of
wood by the kitchen scove, and that there
were other evidences that his employer had
attended to those household duties from
which he had been so long relieved, Lem at-
tempted to retire and get some rest before he
should be called upon to endure the rebuke
which he did not doubt would be bestowed
upon him. But he was unsuccessful ; he
heard some one at the front door, near which
he must pass to reach his own room. In the
desperation of cowardice he determined to

THE .IKRICHO ROAD.

in the

[uizzical

in the

' Ah !"

caused

escape by the hack-door and spend the niglit
ill the harn, luit as lio ojiened the door he
encountered the Sijiiire, wlio had heen to the
well for a drink of water. His escape being
tliiis cotnpletely prevented, he retreated
al)jectly to the kitrlien, and industriously
<levoted himself to tlio preparation of kind-
lings for the morning's tire.

Airs. Harkum entered the kitchen and
couglied threafcningly, sat down in a rocking-

Ire r

chair, folded Irer hands, stared at Len;, and

groaned. The unhapity youtli redoubled his | um, but the S<iuire said

dition in \fhich he was, he could not easily
have twld whether it was day or night.

"Iv'emadeup my mind to this," con-
tinued the Scpiire. " As a soy)er man you
were wortli eiglit chdlars a month to me,
l)ut a drunkard ain't worth anything. So if
you want to stay with me, you must be satis-
fied with half pay — four dollars a month —
until J feel sure you ain't goin' to drink
airain."

An' half board," suggested Mrs. Bark-

exertions and prepared kindling for at least
a week to come, but out of the corners of his
aching eyes he saw that Mrs. Barkum's stare
did not relax. Tlien the Squire entered, and
Lem felt that the thumping of his own un-
hajjpy heart could lie heard in the
heart of the village. The Scpiire uttered
the single word "Lenuiell" and the
wretched boy's liat seemed to involuntarily
slide towards his eyes, as its unhappy owner
answered :

"Sir ?" •

"I hope you're happy," said the Squire,
"now that you've so utterly disgraced us."

" 'Twas the awfullest thing I ever heard
of," groaned Airs. Barkum.

" I wouldn't have unnded it so much if I
hadn't been an officer of the Society," said
the good naan.

"And a justice of the peace, too," suggest-
ed the lady.

"Just so," said the head of the househohl,
accepting the amendment. "I believe in
takin' up my cross, an' I've done it by lettin'
you come l)ack again, Init the cross ain't a
light one, I can tell you — "

"An' it's gallin' to the shoulder of two
people," interoolated Mrs. Barkum.

"That's so,'"' said the Squire. "There's
no knowing where au' who it don't hurt in
some way. The consequences of sin are in-
finlite, an' there's no knowing where they'l
ever stop."

The Squire paused, to enjoy for a moment
the conc'implation of the possible extent of
the harm vv'rought by Lem's wicked act.
The silence seemed to the boy too terrible
for endurance, so he essayed agiiin to continue
with his work ; again the Squire exclaimed
"Lemuel!" however, and the hatchet
and stick of wood fell from the boy's nerve-
less hands.

"You've signed the pledge," said the
Squire; "'twas a good thing to do, but
'tain't enough — 'taint assurin'. If you
couldn't he trusted to keep sober when you was
actually engaged in temperence work, how
am I to trust you when you're knockin'
around at common jobs ?"
Lemuel did not answer; in the mental con-

even at
-let the

No — I'm willin' to be gen'rous,
the risk of not bein' quite just
board just go on as it was."

" But he ought to work harder to make
up for it," said Mrs. Barkum, and the Squire
nodded his head and said :

" That's so. Four dollars a month won't
be as good to your mother as eight dollars,
but you can write her 'twas all your fault."

" Mother !" exclaimed Lem, springing to
his feet and bursting into tears ; then he
hurried out of the kitchen and went to his
own room, while the Squire said to his wife,
in a tone not exactly atfectionate :

" What did you say that about half board
for, Marg'ret?— he might go tell somebody.
Pay is pay, an' 'tain't no disgrace to get a
man to work as cheap as you can ; but cut-
tin' down a man's victuals always sounds
mean."

" I don't see why it's any meaner for me
to cut him down, than 'tis for you," retort-
ed Mrs. Barkum,

" That's 'cos you're a woman, an' don't
understand bizness ways, " said the Squire.
" It don't do any gooil to talk about it,
though ; let's have prayers — it's gettin'
late." And the Squire read the parable of
the Prodigal Son, a grateful tear coming in-
to his eye as he did it ; then he recited his
usual prayer with a single addendum to the
effect that he thanked the Lord for a^'ain
giving him an opportunity of letting his
feeble light so shine that men, seeing his
good deeds, might glorify God. Then the
good couple retired. But a few momenta
after the light was extinguished the Squire
exclaimed :

" Marg'ret, are you asleep ?''
" No," said Mrs. Barkum.
" Well, then," said the Squire, " don't
you see that if you put him on half board
he wouldn't be able to do so much work ?
There ain't no economy in that."

" I don't know but you're right," said
Mrs. Barkum, after a moment's reflection.
"You are a, wise one at plannin', Aaron."
" I do the best I can with such talents as
has been entrusted to my care," said the
devout old man. " I didn't think, of that

THE JERICHO ROAD.

about the br>ard at first, but when men
does — their l)eat — with wliat light they've —
got — they're helped — to the ri^ht wordn by
— the sperit of—" 'Jhe Squire eouoluded
his seuteuce in dreamland.

I''

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DOCTOR OET.S ABOVE HI.S BUSINESS, AND
DOES NOT ESCAPE REBUKE.

The Squire had barely reached his store in
the morning when Dr. Beers appeared.

" Tliat man of yours was iu a pretty bad
way yesterday, Squire," said he. " Organi-
zations like his (loti't easily recover from
such a shock. I'm glad 1 found him just
wlien I did, or I mightn't liave been able to
get him up so safely."

" You don't mean to say that you're goin'
to charge your doctorin' him up to jhc f"
exclaimed the Sc^uire. He's got to pjiy it
himself. He's able to do it, he ought to do
it, an' he mast do it. I'd feel as if I was en-
couragin' intemperance if I was to pay that
bill."

" I don't want to be paid for it by either of
you," said the doctor, his face liusliing. " 1
came iu to talk about something else. Some
weeks ago I tried to explain to you some-
thing about the fellow's physical condition,
but I'm not sure that I made it clear. The
truth is, he needs to be taken care of. His
physique was never a good one, I imagine,
and he is now attenuated almost to a skele-
ton, his circulation is very low, and his vital
force is extreniely feeble. I don't see how
he works at all. "

" Ah, it's grit, doctor, thaVs the stuff that
makes men. Think of Andrew Jackson,
glorious old Hickory, with one of his lungs
gone for half of his life, au' yet what he
did."

•' Yes," said the doctor, "but old Hickory
besides drinking a great deal of whiskey, had
something to stimulate him, some prospect
hefore him, but what has your man got. "

"He's got his motiier, an' brothers an'
sisters," said the Squire, earnestly, " an' he
cares as much for them as old Hickory cared
for the White House or anything else he had
his eye on."

"I'm glad to hear there's some such in-
centive before the young man, " said the doc-
tor, " and it explains what I couldn't clearly
understand, why he has been able to do as
much as he has. But he can't do it much
longer. He's simply used up. He may last
a month or two, but when he breaks down
there'll be very little chance of his getting
up again. "

" Gracious !" exclaimed the Squira.
" Where'd I better send him ? I can't af-
ford to have him sick on mij hands, an' there
ain't any poor-house in tlie county. If he's
in that rix, he ought to be savin' money to
pay his expenses when he's sick. It's all
very well to send money to his family, but
he hain't any business to cheat other folks
out of his funeral expenses."

The doctor stared — glaredj«"ather — at the

Squire for a moment, turned iVDiuptly, walked

to tlie door, walked l)ack again, looked the

I Squire full in the eye, and said:

i "I didn't come to you to say what should

be done when he diet!, Scjuire Barkum — 1

came to suggest that it would be advisable

to i)revcnt that catastrophe. He has signed

♦lie pledge and agreed to give up the use of

stimulants; pliysically that means that he

j will for a few days grow even thinner and

I weaker, and be in greater danger than he

has ever been. I wanted to su^'ge.st that if

you could lessen his duties, or change them

I somewhat so that he would have less physi-

I cal and mental taxation to undergo, it would

i be an excellent thing for him, by giving him

a proper chance to regain a working consti-

1 tution. "

The Squire straightened the several curves
into which his back habitually omposed it-
self when at leisure, raised his spectacles as
high as the brim of his hat would allow, ami
replied :

" Excuse me, doctor, if I say that you're
gettin' outside of your profession when you
prescribe a medicine that you can't give him
yourself. It may all be just as you say — I've
no business to doubt that it is, but / don't
keep a hospital, an' I don't feel called upon
to go into that business. I don't see why I
should do any more for that boy than any-
body else does ; he does work for me, an' 1
pay him for it, an' that's the end of it. If
Jhe's to be helped, that's another thing, but
my 'rangement with him 's a business one,
an' business is business."

" I thought I understood you, at the meet-
ing last night, that you were moved solely
by charitable feelings when you tirst assist-
ed him," said the doctor.

The Squire winced, balanced himsslf alter-
nately on each foot several times, and re-
plied :

" So I did, but when I found he was able
to work, it made things different. I don't
give charity to able-bodied men. If he's
goin' to die, let somebody else show charity,
too, — there's no reason why I should do all
of it."

The doctor's face grew fixed ; he cut
square in two a stick he had been carefully
trimming with his knife, raised his head,
and said :

THE .IKRICIIO liOAI).

" Vea, tliere is."

" What is it?" asked the S(iuire, with a
wondering stare.

" BccaiiHo," said the doctor, hufctoiiing hi.s
coat, ''you're t'le only one to hl.ime For liis
condition. T\\» matter witii him is, that
you've worked liim nearly to death ; he
(Irirka to stimulate facultica whioh you've
nearly exhausted in him, and if he die-),
you'll be the person jjarticularly to hiame.
Practically — although you're innocent of any
Huch intention, of course, — practically, you'll
be his murderer if he dies.

The Sipiire brought his list down on the
counter with a crash. " It's a lie !" he roar-
ed. "That's just the way with you book-
learned fellows— the first thing you find out
is, how to shove blame on somebody. Here"
—for the doctor was just stepping out of the
door— " come back, doctor, — I don't mean
that ifoii lie, you know 1 don't mean that,
but I mean I'm not to blame for anything
like that. I'm not to be expected to know
about a fellow's bodily condition."

'•You know it now," said the doctor, j
" iJ/^,V conscience is relieved, and if I hadn't I
been averse to meddling with the affairs of j
other people, I should have said all this to [
you long ago. Don't imagine there's any i
mistake about it ; the boy is barely strong i
enough to live, even with good care. Uood !
morning," i

The fire that flashed through the good
8([uire's spectacles as the doctor departed,
would certainly have ignited that gentle-
man's clothing had he remained within range
of its focus. A bystander would have ])een
frightened even to see how the Squi'-e's gaze
rested abstractedly upon a keg of sporting
powder on the counter, as he relieved his
mind upon the subject of the doctor's imper-
tinence. He even declared to himself
that he would never employ the doc-
tor again, were it not that he did
think it right for so old a man to trust
his possibilities for good into the hands of
inexperienced upstarts, like the other jjhysi-
cians in the village seemed to him to be.
But the Squire's anger was short-lived; pru-
dence was the leading quality of his mind,
and it quickly asserted its supremacy.

" I must maKe up my mind to nonie thing
that'll look right to the doctor," said he "an'
do it quick, too, or maybe he'll go talkin'
around to other folks about me, an' it'll be
just like them to believe him ; they all
think he knows everything about the way
human bein's get sick an' get well. I al-
ways thought so myself, till this monun'.
'Sposin' he should be riglit — only ' sposin' it
—how can / be to blame, when I didn't
know anything about it ? I ain't posted on
natural law, and don't the Apoatle say 'with

out the law ain was dead ?' An' how do I
know the doctor ain't mistaken, anyhow ?
Hut this ain't thinkin' what to do to keep
him from talkin'."

The Scjuire pondered long and earnestly ;
he pincheil up his foreliead, scratched his
head, rubbed his eyebrows, and beat a vig-
orous tattoo with his fingers on the counter,
but he reached no solution of his puzzle.
The Squire began to feel doleful, and then,
as always happened win.;; '^e inclincil toward
melancholy, his religious feelings began to
;i.;,itrt themselves. He stepped into his back
room, where in his Capacity of secretary of
the County Kible Society he kept the Soci-
ety's property, and took down a Bible.
He opened it at random, as was his habit
when troubled in mind and in search of con-
solation, and his eye fell upon the following
passage :

" Add to your faith virtue, and to virtue
knowledge, and to knowledge temperance,
and to temperance patience, and to patience
godlinesss, and to godliness brotherly kind-
ness, and to brotherly kindness charity. "

The Squire shut the book. "That sounds
just nice I'eter," said he, "puttin' brotherly
kindness an' charity above faith an' godliness.
If he wasn't an inspired writer, I should say
he was in the habit of goin' oti' half-cocked
an' gettin' things wrong side before. I won-
der liow it come to open just at that place !"

The Squire allowed the Bible to open at
random, and his eyes fell up(m this pa.ssage •

"But thine eye and thine heart are not
but for thy covetousuess and for to'shtd in-
nocent blood, and for oppression — "

The Squire closed the book abruptly.
" Tliafu Jeremiah," said he. "I always did
wonder why Jeremiah was for ever down in
the dumps an' abusin' the Lord's chosen
people. 'I'ears to me my humble efforts to
^ek^ the source of ev'ry consolation
am'tTfifiiich blest to-day, but I'll try again. "
Vriie book opened and the Sc^uire read :

"And Nathan said unto David, ' Thou
art the man. ' "

The Squire tossed the holy liook across
the room with such enesgy that it went '
through a window.

"Oi course Nathan .said so," said he, "an'
very good reason he had for sayin' it, too;
but I don't see what that's got to do with
me. I should think I'd been given over to
the adversary to be tempted, an' that he'd
just stuck his finger in the Bible at these
places. But I've no business to get mad
over it — 'resist the devil an' he'll flee from
you. ' An' its wrong to treat God's holy
word with such disrespect, an' I deserve the
punishment I've got for it — them window-
lights cost nine cents apiece by the box. "

The Squire went into the yard, reverently

THE JERICHO KOAD.

■■

picked up the book, and n^ain Heated hiiiiHclf.
This time he cliuiiced upon the verse read-
iuj,:

"So, tlien, every one of us shall^ivean ac-
count of hiniHclf to (lod. "

The S(|uire mused. "That's good clear
liensc," Haid he ; "who wrote that? I'aul- I
iniglit have known it — I'aul always hcd a
level head. I don't know what would have
become of the Cliurch if it wasn't for I'aul.
'Eveiy one ahall give an account of himxclf
to God ;' if that means anything, it means
that Lem has to be reaponsiblo for his own
condition ; and so, of course, it means tiiat
I haven't got anything to do with it. I wish
the doctor was here now— r<l just like to
see him try to get around I'aul with his new-
fangled notions. I wonder if the doctor's
really sound in the faitli liimself?- he got
past the examinin' jonnnittee more on his
face an' gf)od manners than on his evidence, I
really do believe."

And so musing the vScjuire instinctively
turned to one of the imprecatory psahns; this
he read with great feeling, and remarked ;

"Ah I David was tlie man, after all; he's
theone for a troubled heart to go to. I don't
wonder they called him the sweet singer of
Israel, and a type of the Messiah. But even
now I have not found how to lix this matter
about Lem witliont it's costin' me too much
money, or else makin' bad fcelin' against
me. 'The righteous shall suffer persecu-
tion.' "

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH TilK SyU IKK A'ITEMIT.S STRATEUV.

The Squire soon learned that to satisfy the
public mind was not an easy task, for tlie
public was more intpiisitive and less under
the Squire's control than his own ol)edient
and obliging conscience. The doctor had
talked ; that is, having known how power-
ful was the influence the Sipiire could exert
and how provoked tlie Scjuire was with him
for disturbing the status of the Squire's
househokl and mind — knowing all this, the
doctor, after recovering from the erratic at-
tack of courage under whose influence he had
addressed the Squire so plainly, deternuiied
to fortify himself against the insidious at-
tacks he expected, lie accordingly told Bill
Fussell what he had done, and Bill told his
legal partner. As Fussell & Ball had never
been called upon to assist the Squire in the
collection of bad accounts, there was no busi-
ness reason why they should not express honest
opinions on the subject of the Squire's treat-
ment of Lem, and they __ liberally'' availed
themselves of their liberty and ability in

respect. The doctor also unbosomed himself
to each of the Scpiire'a business competitors,
and thes(! genthinen, in exchanging views
with their customers, alluded to the matter
in tluit jjamfnlly non-committal nnmner
which is above all others damaging to
the person spoken of. T'he doctor's patients,
moi t of whom iiad attondecl tlie temiieranoe
meeting, asked (jncstions, and thus gave
the physician an opportunity to say what he
would, and the doctor improved it in so
good-tempered, Christian-spirited a manner
that his r(!marks carried cimvictitm with
them. Fnmi several difVeient sources the
story reache<l the Scpiire's pastor on a single
day, and so forcibly aroused that good gen-
tleman's conscience that he called upon his
parishioner and administered some advice
and counsel, which were not received in the
.spirit with which they were given.

For the Scjuire was not too blind to see
when the period of conciliation was past.
He had always freely admitted, in season
and out of season, that he was conscious of
the indwelling of considerable Old Adam,
which warred againgt the Spirit; now, ho
preytared to make a puldic demonstration
thereof. To many of his fellow-townsmen
it did not seem to be the first occasion on
which the Squire had manifested a spirit
which he could rot hope to carry with him
into the better world, and these persons
hinted that the Squire was at his old way
again. The Squire interviewed his own l:iW-
yer, who speedily instructed the opposition ;
the Squire also laid his ease before his own
customers, and among these there were many
wilt) found reasons for taking sides with the
old merchant. The case speedily supplant-
ed in the minds of local politicians the fa-
mous Martin Kozsta case, which was then
the most popular question before the general
puljlic, and was argued with such industry
that (as in the case of Kozsta himself) no one
could liiid time to depart from abstiact ques-
tions long enough to pay any attention to
the origii al cause of the whole excitement.
Lem grew steadily feebler, as the iloctor
had predicted. All his duties dragged,
someli(jw, though he never seemed to be idle.
The Squire deprived tiie doctor's party of as
many arguments as possible by keeping his
man employed m ithin doors, where no one
could see M'hat he had ,to do. He even
visited him frequently at his work, carrying
a pinch of tea* with him, or telling a funny
story, of which latter kind of stimulant the
Squire had accumulated a good supply.
But still Lem grew paler and more stoop-
shouldered ; tinj^ly he groaned from his
room one morning that somehow he couldn't
get up.

Then the Squire grew thoroughly frighten-

THK .lElMCMO U()\D.

ed. Ifi' H!it liy tlic si(!k iiian'H IxMlsidc, and
ciKiuired anxiously into lii.s symptons. Ilo
was ashamed tooall Dr. Beers, aud dreaded
tlio publicity wliicli might ensue if he called
any of the doctor's rivals. l^iUe most intel-
ligent Western jjionecrs, he himself knew a
little ahout the medicines recjuired hy cer-
tain pliy.siciil conditions. Medicinally- and
medicinally only — he had occasionally taken
milk jiuneh, with excellent results, and he
longed to give some to Lem, hut he ilread^d
the moral eireut of the discovery by the pa-
tient of the nature of the medicine adminis-
tered. Finally, however, a happy thought
struck the Sipiire ; he dropped u grain of
4|uinuie into lialf a gill of biandy, and bj'
this means and the use of considerable sugar,
prei)ared a draught whose principal consti-
tuent was efl'ectively concealed, as he
ascertained by personal test. This dose, ad-
ministered three times during the <lay. was
so efficacious that l^em was a])le that same
evening to milk the cow and carry in some
wood. livi*. the Sfjtiire had no notion of un-
dergoing a similar friglit a second time ; so
the next morning, calling Lem into hia pre-
sence, he said :

" Lemuel, wouldn't you like to see your
mother ?"

Lem stood cect at once, and the wrinkles
went out of his face. The Sc^uire noticed
these indications with satisfaction, and pro-
ceeded :

" I thought you would ; an' I've thouj.dit
of a way for yon to do it without its costing
you anything. Sam Keeves is goin' to take
a drove of horses east this week, an' he needs
about t)ne mau to every five horses to help
lead 'em. 1 can get yim the job of goin'
with him, if you like — lie's under some oldi-
gations to me. The pay's generally about
twelve dollars a month an' your board on
the way; an' twon't cost you much to get
from rixiladelphy or New York to wherever
your folks are. "

Lem's eyes iiUed, and he caught at the
Squire's hand. The good old man was visibly
affected, but he conti'olled his emotion enough
to remark;

" Didn't I tell you so '; Didn't 1 say tliat
if you'd do your best I'd be your friend ?
Didn't I say I wouldn't lay it up against you
that you got drunk once? 1 believe you've
really tried to do your best, an' I want to
see you rewardeil in just the way that suits
you best."

" Oh, it's just the thing !" exclaimed
Lem.

" An' yet," continued the Squire, "there's
folks in this town that say I've abused you
— that I've overworked you, that all I cared
for you was to get out of you whatever I
could, an' then let you shift for yourself. "

" They lie !" shouted Lem, " ev'ry one of
em lies, an' I'll go tell 'ein ho."

" Easy, Lemuel," said tlHiSfjuirt!; "'tain'*
right to show an angry sperrit t(» other"
when you're enjoyin' the mercies of Heaven
yourself. I don't ask you to say a word for
me ; it's my duty to endure hardness as »
good soldier of Jesus Christ ; but if y«>u
should find it impossii)le not t4> tudd in wliat
you feel on this subject, say it coolly, an'
(juietly, an' tirmly, as a man always should
when he wants to be believed. An' you'd
better say it soon, for there's no knowing
how (juick Reeves may take a notion to
start — his horses are eatin' up «noney every
day."

Lem sj»ent the time which reaiained to
him in addressing every one he met, ami
telling them how gooil the Stpiire had been
to him. So great was his earnestness that
some of his late advocates M'ere convince<i
that tlieir opposition to the Squire had been
foolish. Others, however, and among them
the doctor, advised him to take the best
possible care of himself, saying that it was
no easy work " to lead several horses who
were without burdens, and were free to act
as coutrarily as the spirit which is charged
with the tricks of horses might inspire them
to do.

Sam Reeves finally got ready to start ; he
led his whole line of horses into the main
street of the village, and most of the natives
turned out to view the procession — evea
go(Kl Airs. Barkum walked to her husband's
store to gaze at the party. \Vh»jn the crowd
seemed as large as it c<nild be, and Sam
lleeves emerged from Michaiu's grocery t<»
take commanil, the Squire ruslicd into the
road with a small shawl iri one hand and a
diminutive white paper jtackage in the other.
He approached Lem, who was tugging at a
line to which several playful horses were
haltered, and exclaimed in (juite a loud
I tone :

" Here, Lem — you'll find it pretty cold
sometimes at night — you'd better cairy this
shawl to tie around your neck ; it won't cost
you anything. An' here," said the S(juire,
dropping his voice, " is a pocket testament
— I'm afraid you haven't thought to por-
vide yourself with one. Let it be a lamp
to your feet an' a light to yoiir
Ijathway, an' may its jirecious truths make
you wise unto salvation. Remember you've
got a Friend above — in him is no variable-
ness or shadow of turnin'. Seek him while
he may be found ; draw nigh unto him,

while he "

" Trot !" roared Sam Reeves from the head
of the column. The horse in advance start-
ed, and the others followed ; the leading
rope of Lem's line struck the good oquire oa

THE JERICHO ROAD.

the shoulders and propelled him violently
forward ; a particularly merry horse snatch-
ed and proceei'ed to masticate the Scjuire's
straw hat, another horse gave him an ad-
monitory lift with his foot, the Squire fell ;
there was for a moment a confused mass of
horse's feet, Scjuires and dust clouds, and aa
the venerable cxhorter regained liis feet and
hurried into the store, he heard the populace
respond heartily to the proposition, "Three
cheers for Lem !"

" Not a word about Lem's only friend, of
course," said the Inquire spitefully, as he
reached for a clothes-brush. "That's all the
thanks a man gets in this world for doin'
rood. But say. Marg'ret, there ain't no
danger of his dvin' on our hands now, is
there ?"

And Mrs. Barkuni responded, "No, indeed
— pears like a reel Providential interposi-
tion, this hoss-tradin' trip of Sam Reeves's."

CHAPTER X.

DR. BEERS (JOES HUNTINO, WITH UNEXPECTED
RESULTS.

D\ir a few days after the departure of the
horse-party, some of the Mount Zion gossips
tried hard to maintain the old interest in the
•ubject of the Squire's treatment of Lem
Paukett. They were unsuccessful, how-
ever ; the cause having departed, every one's
conscience felo easier. Lem was now be-
yond their -^ach, for either good or bad, so
practical fo s declared it was of no use to
talk about him, while religious people, men-
tally conviiling liem to the care of the Father
of all, felt thatthej' had done their full duty,
and rested peacefully under the influence of
a conscience void of offence.

Perhaiis the decline of interest in the case
of Pankett i/*'. I5arkum was partially due to
a new cause of excitement which had been
gi'owihg with a rapidly quite alarming to
owners of a certain sort of property. Rail-
roads ard telegraph lines being unknown in
the ne glil)ourliood of Mount Zion, that
virtuous town and its sulmrbs became a very
Paradise for horse-thieves. This, in a coun-
try whose inhabitants were almost entirely
dependent upon h »rses for the service done
elsewhere by general machinery, was a state
of affairs notto be regarded with equanimity.
The thieves were numerous, active, quick in
their live-stock transactions,'!! and quick-
er with their pistols ; they frequently in-
timidated or bought up sheriffs,
and they were occasionally suspected of
having justices in league with them, so some
of the most determined horse-owners in each

county formed secret societies, every mem-
ber of which was sworn to chase, at a mo-
ment's notice, any horse-thief of whom in-
formation could be obtained, and to act as
judge, jury, and executioner in case
he found the suspected person with the ani-
mal in his possession. Who the members of
these societies were was seldom known except
to the members themselves ; they sometimes
went in masks, to hide themselves even from
their own neighbours, and the same masks
were never used twice in succession. Be-
tween the societies of neighliouring counties
there often existed signal-codes, and unwrit-
ten extradition and reciprocity treaties ; sus-
jtected characters were passed at night, under
guard, to the headquarters of whatever
county they were supposed to have come
from, for all these " Regulators " professed
to be and generally were law-respecting citi-
zens, and conceded to every suspected per-
son the legal right to be tried in the locality
in which the offence was committed.

Dr. Beers himself was si member of the
band which looked after the interests of
horse-owners in the vicinity of Mount Zion,
bi't it was not upon judicial deeds intent
that the doctor rode out of town one after-
noon, with his rifle resting on the pommel of
his saddle. The doctor was an original
thinker, with a greater fondness for demon-
stration than is noticeable in all thinkers ;
he was also an enthusiastic si)ortsman, and
on this particular occasion he was going to
test a new theory. In an adjoining county
he had shot deer in a piece of woods not far
from a spring, shaded by a large oak ; he had
done " tire-shooting " near springs elsewhere;
if he rightly remembered the configuration of
the ground, it was likely that what was
called " Big Oak Spnng " was the only place
near by where deer would be likely to find
water. They would not be likely to visit it
by dayligiit, for the spring was in open
gromul, at least two hundred yards from the
edge of the forest ; therefore, they m//,s7, come
at night — at any rate, the doctor was going
to test the matter to his own satisfaction.
He even disdained the use of the " light " or
"fire" which was generally used to decoy
the animals ; the big oak was hollow, the
opening being toward- the spring ; he could
therefore remain entirely hidden and pick off
his game at leisure. So great was the doc-
tor's anxiety, that he started two or three
hours earlier than was necessary ; he there-
fore tied his horse in the woods at a safe dis-
tance, crept into the tree, drew his hat over
his eyes, and soon was enjoying that repose
which physicians of large practice know now
to obtain whenever they have an hour or two
at their disposal.

When the doctor awoke he found it had

T41E JERICHO ROAD.

grown quite dark, but the .air about him was i
not so quiet as was natural to an empty held i
under the star! iglit. The doctor's senses i
were alert at once, and he soon lieard huTnan .
voices and saw shadowy forms standing and
sitting about. The (loctoi's prudenoe re-
strained him from emerging at once, and he
puzzled his brain to know who the men miglit
be. Fire-hunters ? That would be a shame ; ;
besides there were too many of them — two, ;
or three men at most, were as many as ever
composed a fire-hunting party. Emigrants? |
Perhaps ; they certainly had horses tied in i
the edge of the timber, yet emigrants always \
had waggons, and fastened their horses near
them ; emigrants made fires, too, but the '
doctor could neither see a fire, nor the reflec-
tion of the light from one, nor smell the
burning wood, which latter he could
surely have done if any had been
burning. Besides, emigrants were not
in the habit of standing listlessly about.
Drovers ? The dortor could neither hear nor
see any cattle. Soldiers ? The Mexican war
had just ended, and small parties of dis-
charged lUinoisians and Indiauians had fre-
quently passed through Mount Zion on their
way to their homes, but whenever the doc-
tor had observed these brave fellows in
bivouac, not a man could he see in a vertical
position — they were either stretched upcm the
ground, or seated in a position which seemed
to indicate that the principal duty of a
veteran was to embrace and tenderly cherish
his own knees. Horse-thieves ? The doctor
cast an agonized thought toward his own
trusty animal, ccntracted himself into the
smallest possible limits, and grasped his rifie.
The doctor was not a cow^ard ; he had once
— not intentionally — had a hand-to-hand
difficulty with a panther, just after discharg-
ing his rifle at a deer upon which the
panther, watching from atree over his head,
had designs, and the panther's skin now
ornamented the doctor's otiice. But between
a single panther and a dozen or more horse-
thieves the doctor quite sensibly made a dis-
tinction, with the odds in favour of the
thieves. If he only had one of those pistols
— new-fashioned they were then, and
Eastern newspapers calledthem revolvers —
if he only had one — or two, or three— of
these, what a record he might make for him-
self — what a splendid practical education in
bullet-wounds he might speedily enjoy —
what an unparalleled oppr/tunity for dis-
section ! The doctor was religions, but he
had a theory that all sins couhl be traced to
physical conditions; the worse the sinner,
the more abnormal must be the status of his
vital organs — consequently what a contribu-
tion to the cause of pathological science
he might make, could he only freely ex-

amine the interiors of a dozen or twenty
hoi'se-thieves I

The men still stood aimlfssly about ; the
doctor heard their voices, but could not dis-
tinguish their words. One of them ap-
proached the tree — what if he should attempt
to enter it? Why hadn't the doctor thought
of this before ? He himself had on his oldest
clothes ; lie might have quietly stepped out
into the shadow of the tree, str lied careless-
ly toward the wood as if he were one of the
party, made a detour to the spot where his
own horse was fastened, galloped across the
county line; not more than a mile distant,
alarmed his brother- Regulators, ap2>roached
this gang and captured or — yes, killed —
killed some of them, and been at once the
greatest hero of both counties. Oh ! if
that approaching man would only be guided
away from the hollow of the tree! — the
doctor did not hesitate to pray earnestly on
the subject.

The man passed the tree,
prepared to emerge. As it
the doctor was a bit of a
he was not ashamed to kiss
of his darling old rifle — he might never see it
again.

The doctor peered cautiously out, and as
suddenly withdrew his head, for he heard a
shrill double whistle, three times repeated,
and apparently from the road. The signal
was immediately answered l)j' some one near
the tiee, who twice uttered a treble whistle.
Then the doctor understood that the men
about him were "Itegulators," assembled for
judicial and punitive duty, and that the
prisoner was being brought into their
presence. \Miether to identify himself,
which he could do by signal, or to be a secret
spectator, the doctor scarcely knew for a mo-
ment. He determined upon the latter, V)ut
tlie men massed themselves under a portion
(jf the tree which the hollow could not com-
mand, so the doctor was compelled to be
satisfied with being a listener.

and the doctor

was dark, and

sentimentalist,

the cold barrel

CHAPTER XI.

'•regulators' " coruT.

"Ciot him?" asked a man who leaned
against the trunk of the tree.

"Sure enough. Major," replied the man
addressed, "hut he's a queer case."

" Mow?" asked the Major.

" He acts as if he was looney — if he isn't
playin' possum right up to the handle, then
he is a fool, as sure as my name is Blizzer,"
said the man.

"Trot him up," said the Major. "Two
heads are better than one, so of course
eighteen or twenty heads are better yet.
Let's talk it over together. "

THE JERICHO ROAD?

The man stepped out to the road, and in a
momoiit returned, followed by three men on
horseback, riding al)reast; the man in tlie
centre had his feet tied together under liis
saddle, and his hands tied beliind him.
The men beside him held, each one, a horse
pistol.

"Order in ccmrt !" proclaimed the Major.
'"-.Miovv the prisoner and the evidence."

Two inen stuck balls of candle-wick upon
sharp sticks, poured tur2)entine upon them,
Jind lighted them ; one then stood in front of
the prisoner's horse and the other beliind
him. The other men crowded close, and
looked curiously at the horse.

"Show light both sides!" exclaimed the
Major, upon which the men with lights
changed their position so that light fell upon
both sides of the horse. Suddenly one man
detached himself from the crowd and whis-
pered to the Major. That functionary
coughed, and exclaimed :

" Wait a minute gentlemen — I forgot
something. Take off your hats— hold up
your riglit hands. You do solemnly sweai-,
in the presence of Almijj;hty (Jod and these
witnesses, to try this case without fear or
favour, and strictly in accordance with the
evidence. Now."

The men replaced their hats, and again ex-
amined the horse.

"It't (jarman's horse," said one man, "I
know him by the way the white works up in
front of that oil' forefoot."

"An' 1 know it," said another man, look-
ing at one of the horse's shoulders, "I)y that
double collar-gall. It's the only double col-
lar-gall I ever saw — iiarman oiiijht to
lose a horse for usin' sucli infernally rough
collars.

"Anything else ?" asked the Major.
One man smoothed one of the horse's bind
feet, and exclaimed :

"See how he gives a little lift an' shake of
his foot every time 1 do that ? (iainian
showed me how lie did just that same thing,
an' asked me what I s'[)osed was the matter
with him to make him do it."

" It's the boss," said one man, dropping
back with every outward sign of satisfactory
assurance ; several others nodded and fell
back.

"Let's see his eyes," said another ; "Oar-
man's was wall-eyed — \es, so is this one."

"Did Oarman's have any saddle-chafes '.'"
asked the Major.

"No," said the man who had expressed his
mind about (jarman's horse-collars ; "his
collars ain't tit for a dog, but his saddle fits
like a blanket."

* * Take off the saddle and the prisoner, and
let's see," said the jNlajor.

The prisoner was untied and lifted off. He

fell instantly upon the ground, while the
guards covered him Mith their pistols. The ,
saddle was removed and the men again
crowded near.

" There's no chafe yet," said a man, who
felt the skin over the horse's backbone just
behind the shoulder, "but there will be
soon; fliis saddle must be hollowed out of a
log."

" Has anybody any doubts about the
horse ?" asked the Major.
No one replied.

" Now show up the prisoner, tlien," said
the Major. (Tlie order of ])roceedings had
been in strict accordance with the ways of
new Western count'es, for in any one of
them a horse is held lu far higher regard
than a man. )

"Stand up," said one of the guards, shak-
ing the prisoner's shouhler. "Confound it,"
growled the guard, "that's just the way
he's acted ever since we got him."

" Didn't I tell you he was looney ?" asked
Blizzer.

" Pour a little whiskey in his mouth, some-
body," suggested the Major. " Ptrhai)s he's
tuckered out ; even horse-thieves get that
way sometimes, I s'pose. "

The whiskey was administered ; some of it
found its way into the prisoner's nostrils,
and made him cough violently. The disturb-
ance seemed to revive him somewhat, and he
was able to remain cu his feet after being
assisted to rise.

"Any one ever seen him before?" asked
the Major.

" No," said some one, after a moment's
silence, " an' / don't want to again. He's
more lit for a graveyard openin' than for any-
thing else, even hoss-stealin'."

lie v/vTs- a miserable, insigniticant-look ob-
ject. Small, thin, Hat-chested and stoop-
shouldered, yet his eyes were very bright.

" Prisoner," said the Major, "you are
charged with stealing a horse from a man
named (barman, living in this county. The
horse is found in your possession. What
have you got to say for yourself?"

The prisoner opened his eyes and mouth,
and drawled out, as if soliloquizing:

" Just a Hoatin' ahmg lovely, as if there
wasn't ever anj'^ such thing as trouble in the
world. I wish everybody I knowed could
be so happv. "

"What" did 1 tell you?" said Blizzer,
spinning aliout on his heels and appealing to
every one.

" Play in' crazy is a losin' game here, pri-
soner," said the Major. " We've seen it
played before. "

" Play ?" exclaimed the prisoner. "Oh,
it's just like as if I was a little boy again,
'fore I ever knowed what trouble was. I feel

]US

tir

in
tnl

sail
on(
do

hoi

hu|

si^

bol

hul

as r

THE JERICHO ]{UAl).

tlie

whistles shrilly
Every one started
crowd burst the

— I'm Doctor Beers
poor old

just as happy as if I was playin' all the '•
time. " I

'• Show him the rope," growled someone'
in the Major's ear — " that II l)ring out the i
truth if he's tryiu' to gum us. " 1

' ' The evidence is all against you, prisoner, " |
said the Major, sternly, "and tliere's only
one punishment. Say your prayers. Men,
do your duty. "

The guards lifted the prisoner upon the!
horse, still unsaddled; the prisoner wasj
humming a tune softly, when his eye caught i
sight of a rope which was thrown across the
bow of the tree. He stared and stopped
humming ; he looked about him with a start,
as if awaking from a sleep, and screamed ;

" Mother!"

Half-a-dozen double
tittered, pierced the air.
and into the midst of the
doctor.

"Excuse me, gentlemen
— next county. Lem — Lem, you
fellow, what does all this mean ?"

Lem did not answer ; he had already
fallen from the horse. The doctor was by
his side in an instant, and had his finger on
Lem's pulse.

"Show light here a moment !" asked the
doctor. Both men with lights approached
the doctor, and so did every one else. The
doctor looked into Lem's half-opened eyes,
observed his face closely, and finally ex-
claimed :

"I know this man well, gentlemen, and I
don't believe there's amore harmless person in
the world. The trouble with him );ou' is that he
is almost dead. He has a severe malarial
fever, and is delirious under its inlluence,
and this shock will probably take him oft.
I do wish I'd come out of that tree in time to
prevent it, but I had no idea who your pri-
soner was, and I didn't wish to intrude."

"That's all very well, doctor," said tlie
Major, "but what we want to know is, how
did he get Carman's horse ':"

" Wait until he gets well," said the doc-
tor, " and you can probably find out— j'ou
certainly can't while he's in this condition.
I know his constitution, gentlemen. Weeks
ago I warned his employer that he would die
soon if he wasn't better cared for. He may
die now, within ten minutes — in fact, it'll be
strange if he don't."

" And not confess or tell who else is m his
gang.?" exclaimed the Major. "Thunder !
try the whiskey on him again, boys — that'll
bring him to long enough to own. up or ex-
plain. "

The man with the whiskey-bottle ap-
proached ; the doctor snatched the bottle
and threw it awuy. An angry murmur ran
through the crowd ; and several seta of earn-

est arguments began at once, when suddenly
every sound a\ as hushed by a ileejt voice
whicli exclaimed :

" What aie you doing to that man ':"

Everybody lookeil in the direction from
which the voice came, and they bejield a
large man on a large horse. The man seemed
to be a strangei', for no one greeted him by
name; every one seemed to be bui^y wonder-
ing how he had approached without being
heard.

" Wliat are you doing to that man V" the
stranger repeated.

The Major threw up his hat-brim a little
way, folded his arms, and said :

'"' I dont't know as it's any of your busi-
ness, but we like to be accommodating. We
are about to hang him for stealing Garnian'a
horse, but he seems to have fainted. We
thought we'd like to hud out first, though,
how he came by the animal.''

"Well, / can tell you that," said the
stranger. "He was turned off by Sam
Reeves a coupleof day sago for being used up,
an' not tit to lead horses, an' he was tiyiu'
to walk back to Mount Zion, where he had
friends. I met him on the road, an' lie was
the most pitiful sight I ever did see, all
burnin' up with fever. I hadn't any time to'
lose, but every once in a while he'd qui:^
whatever he was sayin' an' cry out ' Mo-
ther !' in a way that went right
through me. I've got a mothei' myself, an'
his hollerin' was too much for me, so I got
off my boss, an' helped him onto him,
an' told him to ride to Mount Zion as fast
as the Loi'd wouhl letliim."

"And where did i/ott get Garman's horse,
may 1 enquire ''." said tlie Major.

The stranger gathered his bridle-reina
tightly, turned liis horse's head a trifle,
shouted "Sttdehim !" and gallopeil off.

Every one stared except the Major ; but
tliat gentleman snatched a pistol from one of
the guards and tired : the horse-thief groaned
and fell from his horse. Tlie Reuiilators
abandoned Lem, and the doctor followed
them, thinking, perliaps, that an ever-kind
Prov.dence was about to compensate him for
that disapjiointment about examining l)ullet-
wounds and dissecting horse thieves.

"I'm a uoner !" g;is])ed the thief ; but
'taint as bad as it might have been, if I
hadn't saved that poor Tittle cus. "

The doctor examined the man's wounds,
but the Major scrutinized the backs of the
desperado's hands, and then removed 'his
hat and looked cuiiously at hia left temple.

"It's Bill Hixton, b„y8 !" he exclaimed.
"Every mark's ai ing to description.

I guess we haven't ale such a bad night's
work, after all."

An hour later Bill Hixton, who the doctor

THK JERICHi) ROAD.

tliought might recover, was safe in the
county jail ; while the tloctor, unable to
borrow a horse from any one, took Lem i>u
his own and walked, leadini.' the horse, to
Mount Zion.

(UIAPTER XII.

THK KKJHi'KOUS SHALL SUFFER VKKSKfTTION.

The morninic s^ri i^hone brightly in Mrs.
Barkum's tidy kitchen, and its cheery iiiHu
ence was materially assisted l)y the blazing
Hre, which a sharp N()vem))er morning neces-
sitated in the large tire-place. Wood was
cheap at Mount Zion ; even the most dilatory j
of the Squire's debtors were willing to reduce
their accounts l)y depositing cord-wood in
the Squire's back-yard, and the fire-place
was wide enough to I'eceive the wood in the
lengths in which it was delivered. At one
side of the ri re place stooped Mrs. Barkum,
frying sausages, and occasionally looking
into a Dutch oven, fr«m which came an
odour of corn-bred, not unmixed with that
of saleratus ; at the other side sat the
Squire, who, while waiting for his break-
fast, was improving the Heeting moments by
pferusing the family Bil)le. Both seemed too
busily engaged to enter into conversation,
but Hnally the Sijuire remarked ;

" Marg'ret, 1 sometimes think we're
never half thankful enough that things ain't
as they used to be in the time of Christ."

Mrs. Barkum ])aused in the act of turning
a fine juicy sausage. Sbe stared at the
Sciuire so steadily that the sausage glided
gently oft' her fork into the tire, as the good
old woman exclaimed:

" Squire, what on earth do you mean ? I
hope you ain't backslidin'. "

"Oh, Marg'ret," groaned the Squire, "of
course I ain't. You must have got out of
the wrong siile of the bed this mornin'. I've
just been readin' aliout the man that went

down from Jerusalem unto Jericho, an' fell

),i

" Oh ! ■' said Mrs. Barkum, " I didn't
understand you. You miglit have put it
plainer, though, an' not give me such a
fright. That was the very biggest one of
them sassiges, too.'"

" Can't you save it yet, for Lem ?" said
the Squire. " Sho ! I keep forgettin', he
ain't heie no more. Poor feller — I hope he'll
find his Saviour before he dies. But just
think how 'twouhl be if a man couldn't go
between towns now-a-days without bein' rob-
bed. Business must have been mighty un-
certain in those days. "

" Like enough, "'said Mrs. Barkum, hast-
ily withdrawing from the coals the coflfee-
pot, which was boiling over.

" Human nature was meaner then that
'tis now. Loo," cuutiiiuud the Sfjuiie. "Tliiuk
of that i)riest an' Levite lettin' that poor
fellow suft'er, when it only cost the good
Samaritan a penny to relieve his necessity.
To be sure I've heard ministers explain that
tlie penny of those days was as good as
thirty cents now, but I wouldn't have
grudired thirty cents to keep a man out of
trouble, 'pears to me. "

" I shcmld think not," said Mrs. Bark-
um, as slie proceeded to put the breakfast on
the table. " Think of how much you done
for Lem."

" Yes," said the Squire, "but I got my
reward. Think of what 'twould have cost
me if he died on my hands — we can never be
thankfi.l enough that we was saved from
that. Let's ask a bicssin'."

Tiie two old heads bowed reverently, and
then were suddenly uplifted, for a hand was
heard at the door-latch. A second later the
door opened, and Lem staggered in and
dropped into a chair by the lire-place.

The Squire sprang up and groaned ; Mrs.
Barkum turned in her chair and sighed. The
Squire soon recovered sutiicientlj' from, his
surprise to sternly exclaim :

" Lemuel 1 was does this mean ?"

"I feel as if I was goin' to die," Lem
feebly replied.

Then Mrs. Barkum arose and exclaimed :

" ^squire, somethin' must be done at
once !"

" Thank you, Mrs. Barkum," said Lem.
" I need it, I do assure you."

" You're a — " began ^Irs. Barkum, when
her husband intenupted her by saying hur-
riedly :

" This way a minute, Marg'ret."

The venera\)le couple stepped into an ad-
joining room, and looked each other square-
ly in the face. The good Squire's face was
full of trouble, and his wife's was full of
j anger.

" He ain't to die here, anyhow," gasped
Mrs. Barkum at last.

" Or' course he ain't," whispered the
Squire ; " but let's think up some way to
manage it decently."

" Iv'e been a-promisin' for better 'n five
year to go see my sister at Evansville, an'
now my heart's set on goin' by this mornin'a
stage," said Mrs. Barkum. "The washin's
done, and I can get ready in half an hour."

" You're a good wife, Marg'ret," said the
Squire with great earnestness. " ' The
1 "art of her husband doth safely trust in
her !' as the good book says. Wait a minute
—he must have money by him yet— I'll go
right out an' look for a boardin' place for
him. Ben Kiagsell takes boarders cheap.

an' it s our duty to see that Leai don't pay
more than he'd ought to. "

•' Mebbe he hain't got enough money to
take care of himtill — till he linds out whether
he lives, an' then they'll come down on you
for it," said Mrs. Barkum.

The Squire amiledcondescendingly. ' 'That's
all you women know about business," said
he. " You don't s'pose / engage his board,
do you ? I'll tell 'em he want's to get a
boardin' place, as he's pretty poorl}', an' that
he's got the money to pay for it. I'll just see
{/"he's got it though. "

The Squire learned that Lem still had
some money. He explained that Mrs. Bark-
um had arranged to go to Evansville by the
stage of that morning; he was autliorized by
Lem to engage board for him, he engaged
the board accordingly, and moved Lem to
his new quarters with such celerity tliat
when, at noon, Dr. Beers called to see his
patient, he found the house tightly locked,
and was obliged to drive to the St^uire's store
for further information.

" No," said the Squire, "he isn't a pauper,
an' he's got a S])irit of his own. He's got
money in his pocket, an' he's man enough to
want to take care of himself. Grit, doctor —
didn't I tell you so months ago, "

When the doctor's story of Lem's narrow
escape went the rounds. Mount Zion was
worked up to a fever heat of feeling. The
Squire's pastor alluded to the matter m
prayer-meeting, and made it the subject of a
powerful discourse upon special interposi-
tions of Providence. Ben Ringell's daugliter
was summoned to the front door one morn-
ing to receive for the sick man an elegant
sponge-cake, sent by Mrs. Berrington, who
was so aristocratic that she kept two ser-
vants. On the same day the town butcher
called with steak enough to feed a large
family; 'twas for tlie sick man, he said, and
'twas all tenderloin, too. The teacher of
the girl's Bible class in the Sunday-school
attached to the Squire's own cliurch^-a re
fined, sensitive woman — sent Lem a bottle
of Florida Water, which was then the rarest
perfumery known at the Mount Zion drug
store. Ijam Fielder, a good-for-nothing mu-
latto, who spent most of his time hunting,
left a splendid assortment of game for Lem,
with the word that whenever Lem would
like to hear a fiddle played by a man that
knew how, he would like to be sent for.
Saintly old Aunty Bates who, with a slender
purse but a great warm heart, managed to
help every one who was iu trouble, went
straightway to work to knit Lem s ime
warm stockings to wear when he recovered,
as she hoped and prayed he might. The
Smith girls, who alone among the Mount
Zion ladies boasted that they never worked,

compounded a custard with their own fair
hands, and delivered it in person, lest its
appearance should be marred by a careless
bearer. And one evening Dr. Beers was
closely questioned by Micham, keeper of the
liquor shop, and had pressed upon him, for
Lem's especial use and benefit, a tiask of
brandy, which Micham declared could not
be equalled west of the Alleghanies.

CHAPTER XIII.

PRIESl'S AM) LEVITES.

During the fortnight in which it seemed
doul)tful vkethcr Lem Pankett would re-
cover, lie was the princij^al subject of conver-
sation at Mount Zion, and every one agreed
that the Squire displayed his naturally mean
sjjirit by not taking the sick man in his own
house and seeing to it that he was decently
buried. Every one told every one else what
'hi'ii would have done had Lem been a faith-
ful emjdoye of their own. There were even
many who declared that even if Lem had
been a nigger, and the circumstances Ijeen
still the same, they shftuld have cared for
him under their own roofs. This, from peo-
ple who lived within a few miles of a slave
State, and before an abolition party openly
existed in the West, was as strona; language
as the most earnest humanitarian could de-
sire.

When, however. Dr. Beers announced,
with pardonalde pride, that although Lem
had been very dangerously ill, he was now
in a fair way to recover, the djrection of con-
versation was somewhat changed. It now
became the task — not at all hard — for each
man to convince his neighbour that ii was
the Squire's duty to again find occupation
for Lem. A self-appointed connnittee of one
waited on the Squire, and informally ex-
pressed the sense of the public, but the
Squire vigorously declined to be guided
thereby.

" The doctor says he isn't tit to work
much," said he, '* an' I don't employ men to
stand around and hold themselves up. I
ain't without charity, but I'm not the man
to take the whole charge of the only object
of charity in the county. The right place
for him is the town where he came from, an'
where his people have contribitted, by
payin' taxes to the public fund that's diawn
on for the support of the poor. I've done
more for him than anybody else in town ; to
be sure, the doctor's made him well, but
he's doctored him in time that he wouldn't
have been doin' anything else iu, and I don't
s'pose all the medicines he gave him ever cost

THE JKKICHO ROAD.

■3:

a dollar. / look liiiu when lie hadn't a
friend ; I kept him a week for notliin' ; I
held on to him when I'd have been jnstitied
in seiidin' him away; I put myself out toHiid
him a way of gettin' hack to his mother when
>ie wanted to go ; 1 gave him a shawl to keep
himself warm witii — I've done lots f)f tliinus
for him. He's of age,— he's eome baek here
of his own free will ; he don't want to live on
anybody else ;— why don't someboily give
him work if t'.iey think so mneh of him ? /'(f
do it ([uick enoMgli if he was strong enough
to do wliat's got to be done, but the pork-
paekin' and eorn-shellin' season's nearly on
lis, an' I've got to have a strong man that
ain't likely to get sick and upset all my
business calculations."

The .S(|uire said as much to Lom, though
in a kinder manner, and with sundcy (juot.a-
tioiis of Scripture, en the first day when the
convalescent lounged into the store. Ijcm
admitted the wis<h)m of the .Sijuire'a remarks;
and was as grateful when the Squirepromised
to"keephim in mind if he heard of anything
turnin' up " — as if the .Squire meant more
by that exj)ression than other people do un-
der similar circumstances.

Then began for Lem a course of exjierience
through wliich thousands of men have pass-
ed, and thousands are all the while passing,
but which, in spite of its commonness, is full
of tortures keener than any that Christian
zealot or heathen executioner were ever able
to devise — a source of exiierience whose in-
fluence upon character, and, through charac-
ter, upon the world — the usual nature of re-
ligious teaching has never succeeded in over-
comin,T. No one spoke unkindly' to L(yn,
but no one greeted him with any cordiality.
Business men did not frowu when he
approached, but, no matter how great their
leisure might be, they never gave him any
encouragement to enlarge upon liis necessity
for employment. Occasionally some one
would quiet his own conscience and get rid
of Lem by giving him a dollar, or some
smaller coin, and then intimate by his tone
and action that his entire duty was done.
Others, equally practical but not willing to
pay so large a price for a peaceful mind,
would give Lem employment for an hour or
two, and pay him at the current rate of daily
labour ; still others would feel that they had
discharged all their moral obligations by giv-
ing Lem a full meal.

And yet the people of Mount Zion were kj
good, collectively, as those of any other
town, and better than those of many, for
Mount Zion was originally a religious colony
and the descendants of the founders were
people of considerable character. Every one
was soiry for Lem — every one but Lem him-

but deserving fellow he was. As Lem

strolled aimlessly past Mrs. Herriugton's

j house one afternoon, while that lady was eii-

I tertaining (juite a largo com[)any, which had

I gathered to make the acciuaiiitance of the

I new judge of the circuit, the whole assem-

l)lage began at once to siteak commiserating-

ly of the poor fellow, his lonely, friendless

life, liis lack of y)rospects,the weighty nature

of his res|)onsibilitics.

"Why don't some one give him work ?"
asked the juilge, who wa.s a resident of a dif-
fei -nt county.

^Vell — he — he isn't very strong — he can't
do mui-'i — he came very near dying a short
timeag j, " soine one answered, and the judge
replied "Oh 1" in a tone wliich indicated
that he completely understood the matter
and regarded it in the same light in which
the citizens did. Lem passeil the Squire's
pastor one day in the street, and iiad in his
face an expression which caused the good
pastor to go instantly home and pray earnest-
ly that the steps of this i)oor man might be
ordered of tiie Lord. Lem happened in
at the Methodist prayer-meeting one night,
and noiselessly C'>iitracted himself into one
of the rearmost corners ; the next brother
who prayed may a special appeal to Heaven
for Lem, mentioning the would be benefici-
ary l)y name.

Lem grew steadily poorer, weaker and more
anxious looking. When his money gave out
he left his boarding-house and slept in a
corn-rick ; no (ine nuide remarks about it,for
no (me knew of it. Then he caught Hsh un-
til the weather grew too cold for fishing, and
tlie money for which he sold his Hsh paid
for his lodging and iioard with a shiftless
family living near the river. Whenever
there was a freshet he sat in a skiff and
watched the river for saw-logs ; such of
these as he secured gained him money enough
to retain his miserable home. He cut wood
on ground which a farmer wanted cleared,
but he could do only about half the work
of an able-bodied man, and there were
many rainy days in which he could-not work
at all, so he never was able to spare money
for his mother. Beggars, who occasionally
visited Mount Zion and told pitiful stories,
fared better than he, for Lem did not know
how to beg.

He was not, with his many troubles, as
badly off as he might have been, however,
for he had three friends. The first was the
old woman who had knit him a pair of socks
when he was sick ; the second was a little
boy named Billy Miles ; and the third, from
whom he had once been estranged, but in
whom he now found his only way into occa-
sional oblivion, was whiskey. The old

self heard everywhere what an unfortunate woman, who lived by herself with barely

THK JKUICHO ROAD.

enough to live upon, never had to cut her
own tire-wood after Lein's recovery, as in
previous days tlie vilhigers had allowed her
to do. The little boy's heart Lern had won |
hy teaching him to make spring-traps for
birds, and tlie gratcfid little fellow had tried '
to repay Lem by teaching him Sunday-school
hymns and giving him a glaaa marble. Tlie ^
friendly service of whiskey Lem could gain
only by an outlay of money, but the expense
was small as compared with the receipts.

But tiiere were times when the companion-
ship of neither of these friends sutticed —
times when the thought of all lie should do,
but could not do, drove him nearly to mad-
ness. People who were out of doors at night '
occasionally met a spare, bent figure, wlio, ]
when it thought itself nnob'erved, would
make strange gestures and give forth inarti- i
culate sounds. If the moon were shining, '.
they would see a face almost frightful in its '
eagerness. From behind the fringe of faces !
which surrounded the departing congrega- '
tions on Sunday, the same countenance was |
often seen, until some of the more fastidious
worshippers were heard to wish that that
dreadful-looking fellow would leave the
town. He haunted the doorways of
churches, school- houses and the court-house,
whenever any entertainment was given at
either of them, and scrutinized the ground
closely, as if hoping to see some one drop
loose change near the door. At one time he
gathered pecnn-uuts, which had some com-
mercial value, and sold them until he
amassed several dollars, all of which money
he parted with for the sake of consulting a
fortune-teller, but without receiving any
tangible return.

CHAPTER XIV.

A NEW EXPERIENCK.

As Lem crept about the streets one cold,
dark night, looking downward and straight
ahead as is the habit with the weaker beasts
of prey, he suddenly heard, in spite of closed
doors and windows, a mighty shout of song
go up from the little Methodist church,
where one of the daily evening services of a
series known as "protracted meetings" was
going on. There was something so assertive
about the music — all vocal — that Lem un-
consciously stopped and listened, and as the
refrain again burst forth he caught the
words :

O, we'll land on the shore,
O, we'll land on the shore,
O ,we,Il land on the sliore,
And we'll shout tor ever more.

Such a rousing chorus Lem had never heard
before. He appFoached the door, peered

through the key-hole, lifted the latch as
noiselessly as possible, and slipped into a
back seat.

The scene Lem beheld speedily caused him
to forget his troubles. The siiiall, jilain
room, well lit by tallow candles, was full of
men and M'omen, mostly memlxjrs of the
church. The sermon had ended, and in re-
sponse to an exhortation, several persons had
kneltat wooden benches inside the altar-rail.
Some of these were crying, and over all of
them bent various meml)ei's of the church,
praying, instructing, and exhorting. Among
the remaining members hymns and praj'ers
had followed each other in rapid succession,
a short and earnest exhortation from the pas-
tor occasionally varying the order of exer-
cises. At each response to the pastor's in-
vitation to mourners to come forward, the
enthusiasm of the (iongregation* had increas-
ed, the prayers had become more fervid, and
the songs more spirited.

Lem looked about him in amazement.
Could these really be the quiet, hard-work-
j ing, rather depressed people he met abftut
I town every day '^ There was one man stand -
[ ing in the aisle with the face and air of a
I martial leader ; — could that really be .isa
} llingfelter, who usually shuffled about v ith
j apparently only the single idea of dodguig
I S(iuire Barkum, to whom he owed more
money than he could pay '! And there, on
I the altar steps, stood a man who had on a
suit of clothes which Lem had last seen on
I his late host, Ben Ringsull ; but the face —
, surely that supremely happy expression
•■ couLl not be developed from the doleful
, features which Ben had sufficient excuse to
habitually carry. In an "amen" seat sat
I an old half-breed, who was undnubtedly the
j person always known at Mount Zion as "old
Daddy Perks," and who had all the stolidity
I of his Indian parent ; yet now he was crying
! with joy and shouting " Glory to God !" in
tones heard easily above the loudest bursts
of song. Old Aunty Bates ,Lem had always
believed was an angel : but now, in spite of
her wrinkles and straggling hairs and unut-
terably hideous bonnet, she looked like one.
I What could it all mean ?
, Every one but the few unbelievers knelt
\ Avhen the pastor called on Brother Brown to
I pray, and as the prayer, rugged in its struc-
ture but almost terrible in its earnestness,
proceeded, the unbelievers themselves looked
solemn ; one of them attempted to create a
diversion by throwing a cockle-burr upon
the bald pate of a kneeling person, but the
smiles excited were few and sickly. When
the prayer ended, good farmer Hake raised
the following hymn, preceded by its
chorus :

THE JEUICHO ROAD.

Sing his praise, yo lofty mountains ; rolling

oceans, mighty fountains:
Roaring thunders, lightnings blp.zes, shout

the great [{cdocmcr's praises.
Jesus reigns : he reigns victorious, over fartb

and heaven most glorious, Jesus reittn-..

The farmer, who had a soul full of poetry,
although the only poems he ever read were
in the hymn-book, led this tirat verse with a
perfection of dramatic perfection never seen
on the operatic stage ; but he changed his
tone as he led the next verse :

Come ye sons of wrath and ruin.
Who liave wrought your own undoin —
Ilebel sinuer.-i, royal favour,
Now is offered by the Saviour.
Jesus reigns, etc.

At the close of this verse a tin-shop ap-
prentice, with a desperate but unsuccessful
attempt to appear unallected, hurried for-
waril to the altar, and dropped at the bench
with a groan. Immediately the pastor or-
dered an(^ther prayer, Ijut Lem paid little
attention to it ; he stared at the seat the
apprentice had left, and wondered why the
young man, who was one of the principal
evening liglits of Micham's groggery, had
gone to the altar. His reflections were in-
terrupted Ijy Brother Benkess starting the
only hymn whose air he thought he knew,
but about which he was lamentably mis-
taken ; this musical faihire was brought to
an early end by Father Dilman, wlio
sang —

Halleluiah, Hallelujah,

When my last trial's over, Hallelujah :
I liope to shout glory.

WhLn the world's on fire, Hallelujah.

This was followed by several verses of the
old hymn beginning —

" Jesus my all to heaven has gone,"

with the second and fourth lines of the
above cliorus appearing between the
lines of the hymn. As Father

Dilman, who had once been a sailor,
proceeded with the hymn, he uncons-
sciously found iiis way into the aisle, and
strode up and down, shouting the words in
staccato, with tremendous emphasis, and
looking at every one enquiringly, as if to ask
if they were not going to assist
him at shouting in the new world; so at
least the old roan's face seemed to say to
Lem, and the poor boy's heart gave a bound
at the thought. The world on fire ? the
last trial over V — oh, if it only were ! and he
and his fatlier, ^nd mother, and brothers.and
sisters, could stand around the great white
throne he had heard ot, and shout with joy
over the end of all sorrow and trouble !

Suddenlj' the whole tone of the meeting
was changed by some one who started the
refrain :

Remember me, remember me !
O, Lord, remember me !
Ucmeniber Lord, Thy dying groans,
A.nd then remember me !

Numerous verses from different hymns
were sung to the same music, the refrain fol-
lowing each verse. The first few notes so-
bered the congregation and made Lem shiver;
as the sf ng c()utinued,each successive couplet
sounded more and more like a beseeching
wail; not a single false note marred the inex-
orableness of tiie harmony, and the couplets
seemed finally to change to blows, each one
more terrible than tiio last. Lem trembled
— he grew pale— he grasped tiic rail of the
seat before him, lest he should fail. His
only comfort was that he was fio insigniii<;ant
and so uninteresting that no one would no-
tice him. But he was mistaken ; Aunty
Bates turned her hf;ad as some disturbance
took place at the door and saw Lem, and
something in his appearance caused her to
put on lier spectacles and scrutinize him
intently. The instant the hymn was ended
her cracked voice was heard starting the
hymn:

•' Jesu, lover of iny soul,"

to the air generally known as " Pleyel's
Hymn." The audience was in exactly the
right humour to render this prayer — as both

I'll
mak
^3an^
min

in words and music it
spirit. At the end of
broke down; the words:

was — in the right
the first verse Lem

" Hide me. Oh, my Saviour hide,
Till the storm of life is passed,"

brought tears to his eyes, and though he
dropped his head upon the back of the seat
in front of him, he could not conceal his
emotion. Father Dilman, who had not re-
covered from his excitement, noticed that
Lem was greatly disturbed in mind, so he
seated himself beside him, and said:

" Poor sinner, why don't you take up your
cross and go forward for the prayers of God's
people ? Thvre^n the ark of safety — rie;ht up
at that mourners' bench. "

Lem still trembled and cried.

"Come right along," urged Father Dilman,
laying an enormous hand on the weeping
boy's shoulder. " There's always room for
one inore on the good ship Zion. There's a
haven of rest for them that believe. "

Lem oidy wept harder.

" Powerful convictions make glorious con-
versions," continued the old sailor, " an' you
seem to have as much conviction aboard as a
craft of your size can carry. Come along —

THE JERICHO ROAD.

I'Jl give you a tow if you think you can't
make tlie mournera' bench under your own
canvass. It '11 make you feel better the
minute you weigh anchor. "

" I don't wan't to feel better," said Lem,
half-choked apparently by his feelings. "I'm
as happy as I can be and live; I don't want
anything but to die and get out of this awful
world, and up to whore God is."

The people vrere still wailing their way
through Wesley and Pleyel, but Father
Dilman sprang upon a seat and shouted:

"Another soul made port — Glory to God V
and then the old sailor, with a voice against
which the assembled multitude strove only
to submit, roared out :

1 want to go, I want to j?o,

I want to «o to heaven ;
I want to go where Jesus is,

And have my sins forgiven.

I'll tell you why I want to go ;

I'll tell the pleasing story;
There's so much trouble here below,

But, oh, there's none in glory.

Several of the brethren looked around in-
quiringly, and finally made their way through
the aisle to where Lem sat ; they shoek his
h id, they congratulated him, and when the
pastor, at the close of the meeting, gave an
opportunity to those who wished to unite
with the church on probation, and Lem
started forward to give the pastor his hand,
the little knot of sympathizers led the au-
dience in the doxology, beginning —

"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,"

CHAPTER XV.

THE squire's religious INTEREST IN LEM IS
CRUELLY ABUSED.

As Lem slowly awoke on the next morning,
he gradually lost his desire to die and be
among the angels. As he opened his eyes
the least bit, and beheld the unattractive
surroundings of his miserable apartment, he
tried to conjure up the visions and sounds of
the ni^ht before — the lights, the songs, the
melodies, the ttansformed faces of men who
usually seemed but little less troubled than
himself — but viathout avail. Bare, cobweb-
bed rafters were what he saw ; the rattling
of culinary utensils, and the querulous voice
of his landlady scolding her impudent child-
ren, were the sounds that he heard. He
groaned, and buried his face in the straw of
his ragged pillow, but a shout of "0, Lem I"
roused him to see his landlord, a low-
browed, blear-eyed, bestial man, sttutding at

the head of the ladder which led to Lem's
chamber.

'Tlie Hah is fried," remarked the landlord;
and Lem arose and performed his toilet by
putting on his hat. By the act of descending
the ladder, he came again into the old world
—and the new, in spite of a frantic mental
grasp, and eager stare and a great gulp in
his throat, faded from his sight. He did
not lose hope of recovering it,
however. He despatched his breakfast with
unusual celerity, and strolled upto tlie busier
street of the town. He passed MicLam's
grocery, its doors surrounded by many of
his old comrades, without much effort, but
as he approached the principal stores he was
tempted to run, and never show himself in
town again. He longed to be spoken to by
some one of the religious merchants, several
of whom had been participants (not active)
iu the meeting, but he dreaded to hear what
they might have to say. As he passed one
after another of them, receiving only a plea-
sant yet conservative " (iood morning" and
an inquisitive stare, his pale face flushed
with mingled' expectancy and disappoint-
ment. What if even Christian bonds had no
thread of sympathy in them ? — there would
then be no common meeting-ground on
which he might find that response for which
his heart was longing, even though he could
not name it.

But Lem was not to he doomed to utter
disappointment. Faithful among the faith-
less, Squire Barkum spied Lem from the rear
of the store, and although the good merchant
was busily engaged in rubbing molasses
settlings into brown sugar, he dashed out
the front door and laid a hand on the shoul-
der of his ex-employe.

" My dear young friend," said the Squire,
as Lem instinctively took a defensive atti-
tude by thrusting his hands into the pockets
of his pantaloons, "I am rejoiced to hear
that you have taken a most excellent and
praiseworthy step. I could have wished
that you might have cast your lot among us
for I have an abiding conviction that our
faith is more consoling and unassailable than
any other, but there are, nevertheless, st
great many excellent people among the
Methodists. There's Captain Dilman, now —
I've sometimes thought that he was mighty
shaky in doctrine, but he always settles his
account every winter, and there ain't no
honester man in the whole county to trade
horses with. An' there's Jonathan Bingham
— Jonathan's slow pay, but I always be-
lieved he meant to do what he said.. How i*
it with your soul, Lemuel .'"

Lem dropped his eyes. He was not apt
at formulating his feelings, and on this
particular morning he had no feelings suffi*

THE JEUICHO IJOAD.

Lem

'it's all

oiently distinct to admit of direct descrip-
tion ; so he contemplated a tuft of graws
growing between tlie hricksof the pavement,
and remained sdent,

" Don't you feel Christ in you, the hope
of glory ? ' asked the Sfpiire, ■with tender
solicitude.

Lem still runained silent.

" Don't the .Sjjerit l)ear witness with ^our
ajterit that you are born of (Jod V"

'• 1 guess it's all right, Sijuire, " said Lem,
at length, "but I don't exactly understand
what you mean.''

"Ain't you born again?"' asked the
Squire. " Tell me what your experience has
been."

"Well," gaid Lem, "1 went into the Me-
thodist meetin'-house last niglit, an' every-
body was happy, an' 1 found 1 was growin'
happy too, an' I just let myself do it. 1
never seemed to see (!od an' ieel him before,
but last night 1 was sure I did. 1 felt as if
1 was 1 eady to die an' go to him right away.
But I don't feel that way now."

"That's nothin' wontlerful," said the
iSqi'.i.re, reassuringly. "Eveiylxxly's had the
same experience. But don't let go your
hope."

"1 don't mean to,"' said
I've got in the world."

The .S(^uire darted a
at Lem. "I'm afeard,
he, " that the flesh is
the Sperit. Beware of that
is at enmity against (Jod. "

" I don't know what the carnal mind is,"
said Lem ; " but now that it's mornin', an'
there's nothin' around to keei) my mind on
the strain it was last night, I get to thinkiii'
over the old trouble again — how I'm to do
for mother "

The Squire interrupted : " He that Idveth
father or mother more than me is not worthy
of me — that's what Christ said, Lemuel."

" Well," said Lem, "if 1 got the right no-
tion about him last night, he ain't a goin' to
give me the go-bj^ because I want to be a
lovin' son and brother. This here's an aw-
ful world, Squire."

"It's only a sojourniii' place, Lemuel, " said
the good old man ; " heaven's the only
home. Lay up your treasure in dieaven, for
■where the treasure is there will the heart be
also."

" 'Taint treasures that's botherin' me,"
said Lem ; "it's the ■want of 'em — it's
care. "

" Cast all your care on him, for he careth
for us," said the Squire.

" Is that in the Bible ?" asked Lem.

" Yes, indeed, it is," said the Squire, hur-
rying into the back room of the store and
bringing out one of the Bible Society vol-

suspicious
Lenuiel.''

look
said

warrin agm
the carnal miiid

umes ; it's there, an' lots of other precious
promises. 'I'ake this book, Lemuel — 'twon't
cost you anything — and may its precious
truths be your daily meat an' drink."

Lem took the Bible with the air of a man
w ho felt that other meat and drink he was
not likely to tind much of.

" Sit down, Lemuel," said the Scjuire,
pointing to the chair. " You're a new trav-
eller in the strait an' narrow waj, but I've
been in ita long time. I want to give testi-
mony to tlie goodness of Almighty (Jod. I've
been on the roatl to Zion for nigh on to fifty
year. I've had my slmre of the sorrows an'
atliictions of life, but there never was a
time when 1 needed strength that it wasn't
give to me from al)ove. As the Psalmist
says, there's been times when I'd have faint-
ed if I hailn't seen the goodness of (Jod,
but 1 was never allowed to faint. An' you'll
find it so to. Don't ever let yourself be
cast down. The good book says. 'If any
man lack wisdom, let him ask the Lord, who
giveth liberally, but let him ask in faith, no-
thin' waverin'. An' if you don't seem to get
your mind clear, then come to me, an' profit
by the experience of an older hand at the
business. I'm your friend, Lenuiel— I've
showed it to you before in earthly things, an'
now I want to be your friend in heavenly
things. If I could help you any way, I'd
feel liajipy in it, knowiii' I'd be doin' the
will of my Father in heaven. Oh, Jjcmuel,
the ways of I rovidence are mysterious an'
past tindin' out — who'd have supposed tliat
losin' your health when you started with
Sam Ileeves's hoss-gang, w ould have brought
you back to where you was to tiiul your
Lord V An' to think that I, that never ex-
l)ected any reward exceptin' in the approv-
iu' smiles of my heavenly Father, should
have seen you brought to him right here in
the town that was the scene of my labours
for you. My dear boy" — here the Squire
sprang to his feet and seized Lem's hand —

" I give you here my heart an' hand,
To meet you in the promised land,"

Tears — honest tears — came into the Squire's
eyes as he said these last words, and press-
ed Lem's hand, while poor, friendless,
despondent Lem gave vent to his own
feeliugs after the manner which the Squire's
example had affordeiL The world again
seemed less the old scene ot sorrow and dis-
appointment. The Squire's jtears con-
tinued to flow, his rugged face softened into
kindliness, and he still held Lem's hand
tightly in his owd. The boy looked at him
wistfully, enquiringly, hopefully ; he over-
came some obstruction in his throat, and at
last stammered out :

"I'm much obliged to you, Squire, I

real

meJ

vicJ
ifi|
onlj
woJ
abq

TIIF, JKRICHO IJOAl).

<ft

really am, more than I can tell. I'm going
to try to do evisrytliing tliat tlic Hil)l(! tells
me, an' that (!liri«tiann tell nie, an' I'll take
yon up at your oHer whenever I want ad-
vice. 1 conld be the l>est man in the world
if it wasn't for — for — oh, Scjuire, if you would
only give me work — steady work — ^so I
wouldn't all the time he full of torment
about mi>ther !"

The Squire'a face froze at once into its ac-
customed lines; his tears disappeared; he
dropped Lem's hand and said :

" That's out of the cjuestion, Lemuel ; you
know y<ni can't do my M^)ik. an' 1 can't keep
two men. It'll all come right —' Seek first
the kingdom of Hod an' His righteousness,
and all these things shall be added unto you.'
I ain't got time to talk any more now, for
here comes the widow .\leer with a rrock of
butter, an' it takes her a long time to trade.
C'omniit thy way unto the Lord, nu' he shall

bring it to Butter, Mrs. MeerY — let's

look at it ; there's so nuich butter comiu' in
just now that we don't care to trade for any
that ain't first class." n

CHAPTER XVI.

THE HERO FORMS SOME MONEYED ACQUAINT-
ANCES.

Leni hurried through the village toward
the forest, in which the main street seemed
to end. He walked so fast that the boys
at the blaeksmitli's shop stopped work to
stare, and approaching countrymen looked
enquiringly, and unconsciously slackened
the pace of their slow-walking horses, as if
they expected some news. Arrived at last
at the edge of the woods, he threw himself
on the door-step of an abandoned toll-gate
house, and groaned. For a few moments he
breathed short and quick, as exhausted peo-
ple always do, and then he began to murmur
to himself :

" I wish to God I could die. I wonder if
it Is wrong for a feller to kill himself ? If I
was dead mother and the children wouldn't
ever have any disappointment on my account
any more. I wish I didn't ever have to see
anybody in Mount Zion again ; everybody
looks at me this morning as if I was a men-
agerie. Can't somebody ever even think to
say a kind word, or even look kind, I won-
der, to a poor feller that never asks any-
thing else of 'em but what he's willin' to
work for ? The Squire — he in just what
everybody says — I swear he is ; I wish I'd
have died before I met him this mornin' ;
nothin' ever made the world look so awful
before."

Inside the building, and but a few
feet from Lorn, two men had listen-
ed to what he had said, and were now
carrying on an animated conversation with
every feature except their lips. One of them,
who looked like a weazel not greatly over-
grown, shook his head vigorously in favour
of some jirgnment which his eyes had ad-
vanced ; the other, large, dark, sinister and
heavily boarded, seemed in a recuj)tivo mood,
but not convinced. Lem continued :

"An' all this time there's mother jv-waitin'
an' a-hopin' an' a-listenin' for the
mail-carrier, an' a-goin' to the post
othce an' a-coinin' away without
any letter, an' a-wonderin' whether I'm
dead ; an' liere's me, that hain't got grit to
tell her 1 hain't got any money to send. her.
(jireat(JodI Ain't it bad enough to be a
good-for-nothin' rack of bones that's no com-
fort to myself, without havin' to be in this
hc!l about money '/"

Again thu weazel-faced man insi(^e snapped
his eyes and set his teeth and shook his liead
fuiiously, and hi** companion yielded so far
as to raise his eyebrows a trifle and look a
little less sullen.

"Talk about sellin' a man's soul tor
money. "Lem went on; "I'd sell mine — I'd
sell it to the dei/il, if he wante<l it, an' do it
cheap. Nobodj' else seems to want it — p'raps
them that's got money got it the same
way. Tliat old picure in theSunday-sohool
book about the devil holdin' a bag of gold,
an' ev'ryl)ody runnin' after it— just wouldn't
1 like to be in that crowd ? I wish he'd
c(mie along here this minute."

The smile which the weazled-faced man
cast upon his companion, as he vigorously
thrust forth a finger at him, indicated sufh-
ciently that the devil was closer that Lem
supposed ; while the glare of satisfaction
which came into the large man's eyes, would
have impressed a beholder with the demono-
logical idea that Satan was of divided or dis-
tributed personality. The small man softly
arose and left the building, followed by his
companion ; the small man took from his
pocket a roll of bills, and selected one of the
denomination of twenty dollars, which he
held up for the inspection of the other man,
and received a nod in acknowledgment.
Then they both made a short detour in the
woods, and reached a point in the road not far
from the gate-house. Herethe tall man laid
I down by the road-side, while the smaller
I man, assuming an air of great agitation,
I hurried on to the house and addressed Lem :
"Stranger," said he, "do you want to
make ten dollars ?"

Lem sprang to his feet in an instant.
••Go tight to town and buy me a dollar
bottle of arnica liniment; my mate's got a

THE JERICHO IlOAl).

la.

mighty bad sprain, an' can't get up off the
leaves till sonitithiiig'a done fur him. Here's
money to pay for it with — a twenty-dollar
bill — it's the smallest I've got — Im sure you
don't get any bad bills in change. "

"Don't — (lon't you want a buggy to get
him into town with '!" asked Lcm.

"No!" exclaimed the weazel-faced man,
drawing near to Lem,und whispering, "we're
tracking a horse-thief, and if he s in the town
he'd know'us if we went in by daylight. Not
a word about us to anybody. If you shouldn't
find me here when you come back, hang
around the house here tdl I come for you.
These are ticklish times — we're afraid to let
honest-k)oking farmers sec us, even, f(n*
fear that they're in with horse-thieves. Now
travel."

Lem started at a lively pace, but suddenly
gtopped and turned back.

"Is Bill Hixton the hoss-thief you're
after ?" said he.

"No, "said the weazel-faced man, grown
suspicious in an instant. "Bill Uixtou's in
jail in the next county. What do you know
about him ?"

" I know he's a horse-thief," said Lem,
" but I know he saved my life once, an' that
instid of buyin' you medicine I'd break
your partner's legs, an' yourn too, to keep
you from catchiu' him if he was out." '

The weazel-faced man grinned with de-
light. " Stick to your friends," said he,
" that's the way I like to see a man do. Now
hurry up, will you ?"

Away went Lem, looking a year younger
for every dollar of his prospective fee, while
the weazel-faced man rejoined his compan-
ion.

" He's just the fellow we need," said he.
'* He's as green as grass, au' looks aa if he
could be trusted — 'tain't easy to find men
you can trust in shoving-coubterfeits, either."

" Can't trust him after he finds out what
business we're in," growled the large man.

" Now look here, Lodge, what's the use
of gettin' down in the mouth that way, just
when we've got a new man ? S'pose he doe«
only stick to us a few days ; we ve got the
best-made money we ever had yet, and one
way and another we'll manage to have him
get off an avenge of a hundred a day.
Countin' cost — sixteen and two-thirds per
cent. — and makia' plenty of 'lowance for the
trash that we may have to buy that we don't
want and can't sell, and for what we have to
pay him, we ought to clear about seventy-
five dollars a day. That's better than we
ever done wl\en we was in the nigger busi-
ness."

The argument seemed nnanswerable, for
Mr. Lodge opened his mouth only to locate
• piece o? tobacco.

" That ain't all, either," argued he of the
weazel face, " 1 believe we can tie that f«llow
to us so he'll never leave, even if he Hnds out
everything," and the little man repeated
LeuiH remark about Bill Ilixtoii, concluding
as follows : —

" Now, what 1 say is, let's pump him
about luB mother — you remember how he
talked V— and give him lifly to send to her."

" i'"ifty queer ?" asked Mr. Lodge.

" No, fifty straight," said the little man.
" It's a square bu»iness transaction, that's
bound to hold together, and it's no place for
foolin'. There's no kiiowin' what tight
scrapes such a fellow miglitn't get us out
of."

Mr. Lodge pondered moodily over the pro-
posed business risk, but suddenly his gloomy
face grew radiant, and a commotion M'as visible
under the thicket which covered his mouth
and chin, as he remarked :

" Bill Hixton would give us five hundred
— half of it down — if we'd help him break
out. If you've got the story straight, this
chap might be put up — not so's he'd know
it — to take the risk and do the work. Then
we'd clear four hundred and fifty. How's
that, Binkle?"

The little man danced with ecstasy ; not
even a blackberry cane that attached itself
to his coat and yearningly reached the cuti-
cle upon Mr. Binkle's shoulder, succeeded
in subduing his ecstasy. He even gave vent
to se\reral short shrieks of delight, which
were discontinued only after the more sedate
Mr. Lodge had made an earnest appeal, in
language almost wholly scriptural, for si*
lence.

" We'll take the ten you was going to give
him out of the fifty he's to send his mother, "
BUggeoted Lodge, but the business-like Binkle
replied :

"No, we won't. He'll want to spend some-
thing for himself, maybe, and he ought to
spend some good money, in case anybody should
get on the scent. I believe he's coming now
— yes, it must be — somebody's coming, with
a bottle in his hand. Thunder I I didn't
make up a yarn for him to tell about what
he wanted the liniment for. "

" Just like you, always goin' off half
cocked," growled the little man's partner,
who had suck already into his habitual
despondency. "Let's get up into the
timber, an' keep an eye on the fields — some
infernal constable may be trackin' him".

Both men climbed trees near the edce of
the woods, and scrutinized the ground be«
tween them and the town. As wheat stubble
was all that the fields contained, they soon
satisfied themselves that Lem was not foi-
lowed. Then they descended.and when

1^1

tud

yai

car

])ai

hit

THE JEIIICHO KOAD.

liem arrive'!, panting and tmrnlo, Mr. Binkle
welcomed him with a look of tonder scdici-
tude, and led him to a thicket a hundred
yards from the road, where lay Mr. I.odge
caresainj,' a bandaged ankle, ami simulating
pain with lieart-rcnding groans.

CHAPTER XVll.
A mi,sdirk(;tei) missionary kkfort.

For several days Lem's new friends kept
him quite busy. They assured him of steady
employment, explaining that officers of the
law, who, like themselves, c((uld not l)e too
careful to keep tlioir own persons out of
sight, needed some assistant who was well
known and trusted. The work made neces-
sary by tlie pursuit of the horse thief for
whom they were ostensil)ly in search, was
various. Anion l,' otlier things, a gun was
necessary — they liad forgotten to bring their
fire-arms, so great had been their hurry —
and Lem was sent to the principal settlement
in the adjoining county to buy one, the cost
not to exceed ten dollars, tliough a tifty-
dtdlar bill was given liim with which to make
the purchase. Then Lem was instructed to
hire a horse, on pretence of going to see a
cousin in still another county, and there he
was to purchase, out and out, three as good
horses as lie could Hnd. These investments
were made only after Lem Jiad been sent '
into Mount Zion on every conceivable errand i
by which good money could be obtained in
exchange for counterfeits. Mr. Binkle liad
fulfilled his intention of giving Lem fifty
dollars for his mother, the giving having
been preceded by a drawing from Lem of his
story, and by a copious shower of tears from
the sympathetic Mr. Binkle.

As for Lem, he was happy ; life
seemed every way delicious to him.
He was helping iiis mother ; he was
satisfying his employers ; he hfid at
last found Bome one who apj)reciateil him
and remunerated him handsomely. There
was s(mietliing delightful about the secrecy
of his new business, and even more delight-
ful in the camping out and the irregular life
which it necessitated. Money came to him
freely; he was ])roinised a regular salary of
twenty-five dollars per month, but before
he had been among tiie counterfeiters a week
he had received, in good money, and as spe-
cial gratuities for successful transactions,
the equivalent of his monthly salary. The
conservative Mr. Lodge murmured consider-
ably aiiout ills partner's generosity, and
finally remarked :

" You might pay it in bad money, any-
how — Ac wouldn't know any better. "

" Them stonikcejters down Ease, where
his mother'll spend whatever we give him,
would spot it in a minute," replied Mr.
Binkle, " and then we m'njht. lose him. You
mustn't; forget tlie first principles of busi-
ness, liodge, just for the sake of being care-
ful."

" S'pose we lose him anyhow ?" growled
the despondent partner.

" Thvii we'll have got rid of a good deal
more than we ever did in such a little while
before. You don't even seem to think that
we're doin' good with mo;iey we give him,
either."

Mr. Lodge uttered a frightful bark, which
was intended for sarcastic laugliter; his part-
ner so understood it, for he took issue with
him at once.

" Now look here. Lodge, 'tisn't decent in
you to always talk ami act as if we were the
hardest cases in the world. You may think,
what you please about yourself, but when
you're thinkin' up abuse, just count me out,
if you please. 1 know shovin' counterfeit
money isn't accordin' to law, but I liaiu't
got the same notions on finance that congress-
men and legislators have, and when I get a
chance to do good, and it don't cost more
than I think i can staml, I'm uoing to do
it, and 1 ain't ashamed to say that I believe
it'll be passed to my credit (Jver and over
again I've heard preachers get otl' sermons
on the text, ' True religion and undefiled is
this ; to visit the fatherless and the widows
in their atlliction, and to keeyj themselves
unspotted tnmi the world.' I'm doin' the
/'».s/ half of that by givin' Lem plenty of
money to send to his mother. The last half
of the text — well, there'sh)ts of church mem-
bers in business that's worse than me. I
don't drink, 1 ilon't swear, 1 don't steal, I
never tell dirty stories, no woman alive can
say anything against me — "'

" How about the motiier of that boy that
the llegulators hung inMisso\iri, for shovin*
bad niouoy that you gave him to spend':"
interrupted Mr. Lodge.

" 1 didn't mean tlidt sort of thing about
women," replied Mr. Binkle, (juickly, "and
y(ui ain't fair in tbrowin' it up to me — you
know I'd have got him the be^t lawyer in
in the county, and got him clear, when the
case came for trial, or I'd have hired some-
body to l)reak jail for him ; I thought a
great deal of that boy. You can throw up
such things again me all you've a mind — /
don't care — once in grace, always in grace,
and I know I once was there. What
bothers me is that nun don't pay any at-
tention to such things. 1 don't like to pest-
er you about em, because it always makes
you so glum, but I do feel as if it was.my
duty sometimes. You'd feel a good deal

THE .JERICHO ROAD.

growled the im-

happier it you were to have a hope of some-
thing better iii another world, and you
wouldn't 1)0 HO awfully scared every
tinie you thought anybody was oa your
track. A man don't liave to be a
saint because he's a Christian — every-
body's imperfect, but if they trust in the
merits of Christ "

" (), shut up, will you?
penitant counterfeiter.

"No, I won't," said Mr. Binkle. "I
stand everything you say to me, and you
don't always mean it for my good, either ;
what I'm saying to you is all in dead earnest
and good feeling, and there's no money in it
for vie. You don't s'pose I'm enjoyin' it,
talking to such a determinsd reprobate as
you are, do you ? I'm doin' it because it's
for yuiir good, an' because it's my duty, 'i

" You're a model preacher, you are," re-
torted Mr. Lodge, darker-faced and heavier-
Vjrowed than ever. " Y'ou had a good l)ring-
in' up, I reckon from what you lei drop; j'ou
might have made a decent livin' a'uywhere,
but you took to counterfeit money. / was

only a loafer — a cross between half-breed and

white trasli, and I never hurt anybody but ' it has been the

myself, except when I got too nuich whisky I tion's nughtiest

in me and went into a tight, and tlwii I never

gave any worse than 1 took. You paiil a

tine for me, and got me out of jail,, and tlien

learned me fluK infernal business ; I wish

you'd left me in jail ; I never felt so bad

there as I've done ever since I've been with

you, and got in with hoss-thieves and all

sorts of rasca[s, such as a decent drinkin'- take possession of irreligious persons

shop wouldn't let come in doors. Whenever fall under the inHuence of such men,

there's been any ugly work to do

out of my share. After all said and done,
my iniijuities rise iike a mountain. "

" That's somethin' like," said Mr. Lodge.
" My debt to divine justice is such that 1

can I. ever l)egin to repay — "

" Pile it on— don't be afraid of making it
too thick," interupted Mr. Lodge.

" Hut," continued Mr. Bjnkle, his voice
falling a little, and his words coming a little
slower, "there's o//f? comfort ; however great
the debt is, Jesus paid it all. "

The sentiment to which Mr. Binkle gave
voice, is one which has released countless
men and women from bondage to their own
fears ; it has been for jwo thousand years
the last hope, and at times the only encour-
agement, of souls full of honest aspirations,
yet painfully conscious of the drawbacks
caused by their own imperfections ; it has
raised millions upon millions into a clearer
comprehension of the possible greatness of
love, and of love's legitimate end, then unaid-
ed nature could ever have given them; it has
inspired the greatest works of the greatest
artists ; it has melted the savage, strength-
ened the saint, persuaded the sinner >
motive power of civili/.a-
advances duri-jig a^es
in which impe.fect humanity could
not so easily comprehend the le json of
('hrist's life as that of his death. 3ut, I'e-
diioed to a mere cold, commercial CJiidition,
as in the mind of Mr. Binkle and many
another utterly selfish man of business is ac-
tually is, no one can wou(h;r that it does not

who

and

puttin' a ! that it ui)pears to them what to millions of

bullet into a sherrilt'. orstealin' horses to get I mean natures it actually is — a substitute, for

conscience, and a convenient mask to con-
ceal from a man the actual lineaments of his
own rascalities. And so it cauK' to })ass that
Mr. Lodge, instead of being religiously af-
fected by the speech of his compunion, bent
upon that gentlemen a look J!) which scorn,

so st

curiosity and admiration were

out of the country with — I've iuid to do it
Y'ou've spoiled lots of otlier fellers in the
same way ; you've made likely young far-
mers turn rascals; you've tilled i)Ortr people's
pockets with money that some day or other
they find out is counterfeit ; you've spiled
boys that might have made decent men if
you'd let 'em aloue — you don't ever go any-
where but somebody's got to be in risk of his

neck. And then to talk of religion to me I i gained fame and fortune I'lsr
What do you think about your own string ?
— ain't it long enough to take up your whole
time ?"

Mr. Binkle had winced repeatedly under
his companion's attack, but toward the end
he somewhat recovered himself. He looked
thoughtfully almost sentimentally, into the
sky, and dually sighed ont

strangely

blended, thot any |/ainter vl'o <;ould have
cauylit Mr. Loiige's ex).res!.inn, ini;:ht have

i;u.'-!el)'.

CHAITEIl XVITI.

THE WISUttM OF SP:RPENTS.

m a misei

abl

e .sinner

Iki

low.

"Glad to hear you own up," growled
Lodge.

"Everybody's a sinner," continued Mr.
Binkle, " and I'm not going to try to Biieak

"Did you see him ?"

"I reckon."

"Is he ui) to business ?"

'O, isn't he !"

'When?"

'Bight off,"

'Square ?"

'Here's the two-fifty advance.

Lo(

Mr.

abo

ban

in a

vic(

Loi

ren

THE JEIIICHO ROAD.

The speakers wore Messrs. Riiikle and
Lodge, the latter acting as interrogator. As
Mr. Binkle made tlie Hani reply recorded
above, he drew from his pocket a roll of
bank-notes, which Bill Hixton had paid him
in advance for the still-to-beperfonned ser
vice of securing his escape from jail. Mr.
Lodge examined the notes closely, and finally
remarked :

"They all seem to be good. "

"Of course they're good, replied Mr. Bin-
kle, "you never heard of Bill Hixton
playin' a trick in a business transaction, did
you ?"

Mr. Lodge did not deign to reply, but
said, insteail:

" Let's put the boy up to it, right away."

"Just the way we agreed on ?" asked
Binkle.

"I s'pose there's nothin' better," said the
non-committal Lodge.

"Here he comes now, ■' said Binkle, "not
too quick, now."

Lem appeared from the direction of the
town where he had been to forward to his
mother his latest accumulations. As was
his custom, he seated himself at some dis-
tance from his employers, to give them an
opportunity to discuss their (supposed) pro-
fessional duties.

'•Come along, Lem— no secrets here to-
night,'' shouted Mr. Binkle. Lem accepteii
the invitation, and stretched himself upon
the ground near tiie bed of hot coals which
the financial operators had cherished. Mr.
Binkle was staring into the fire with a most
virtuous ex[)ression of countenance, while
his partner was nursing the bandaged ankle.
Both counterfeiters were silent for some mo-
ments ; then Mr. Binkle groaned, and re-
marked :

" It's an infenral shame."

"That's so." responded his partner.

" Bill Hixton would make a splendid man;
he's got in him the stutf for a lawyer, or
even a preacher, if he would just stick to
decent ways, and stop making trouble for us
—officers of the law."

"What's he up to ?" asked Lem, recog-
nizing tlie name, and showing himself full of
interest at once.

" Oh, nothing," said Mr. Binkle. " But I

dropped into county jail to-day, to see

if anyliody else had caught the man we're
lookin' for, an' there was Bill. It made uie
feel l»ad. "

" What d'ye s'pose he'd go at if he got
out ?" asked Mr. Lodge.

"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Binkle,
whipping his own pantaloons as he meditat-
ed. " I argued with him that he was mak-
ing a fool of himself, stealin' bosses for a
liviu', when he was so tit to ailoru society,

and he owned up he was ashamed of him-
self. "

" He's a good man," exclaimed Lem. "He
done more for mc than anybo'ly else ever
did, and he never saw me before, either."

" vA'oll," said Mr. Binkle, with a resigned
sigh, " //'there's any good in him, he'll get a
chance to show it out pretty soon— that's mj/
opinion. His cell window is broader and
deeper than he is, and it'll be the easiest
thing in the world for son)ebody to pass him
in a good flat file, like th.at one I took from
a horse-thief and dropped under the toll-
house the other day. If someliody was to
give him suchafile, and stand outside to help
him when he tried to wriggle out, 1 believe
Bill would be where nobody would find him
in less than six hours."

" Like enough t/i>')i he'd go right back to
his old ways," said the tlesponding Mr.
Lodge.

"Depends on who lets him out," said Mr.
Binkle.

"If it should be one of his old gang, he'd
' oft" an' .steal a boss within two hours; if it
I was a man tliat really cared for him, an'
; would give him a little moral lecture, he'd
; like as not break for some new country an'
join the church."

" Well I" groaned Mr. Lodge, again
s(iueezing his bandaged ankle, " I guess
there ain't any chance for him. It's too bad,
but lie ain't the kind of feller that decent
men takes a risk on, an' 'tain't the thing
for officers of the law to think about as hap-
penin' any way."

"I don't know 'bout that," said Mr.
Binkle. " It's so easily done that it's wnr
business as olticera to think it over and scare
uj) some new way of makin" prisoners more
secure in jail. Suppose, now, that Bill had
a friend .t Mount Zion, or any otlier place
as near to the jail that he's in. It's about
eleven miles ; they could go (juietly along in
the timber by daylight, hang around
ill the edge of the town rill mid-
night, get Tom out in two hours,
lunirs, and be back home an' in bed
'fore daylight. That ain't the way that
jails ouglit to be— nol)ody watchiu' the roads,
or anything."

"It's too bad, anyhow," said Mr. Lodge,

" but it isn't business. S'pose we go down

^ the river road for a couple of (lays an'

] see if wo can't catch our man. I'll give

Lem a chance to rest, and he hasn't had one

lately."

"It's a game," said Mr, Binkle. "Let's
start at once.

Lem dill his best to help his employers oti".
Two of the new horses were saddled, .and
the tliird was led. Lem assisted Mr. Lodge
into the saddle, and the party started. No

THE JERICHO ROAD.

sooner was it out of sight, than Lem was
under the toll-gate house, searching for the
tile of which his respected partner had
spoken. He heard a rustling in the under-
brush, and started out guiltily, but it was
only Mr. Binkle, who said :

"Meet us here, Lem, say, on the morning
after day after to-morrow — we may catch
our man, and then you'd be useful. Get
plenty of sleep between now an' then if you
can — it may come in handy. "

Mr. Binkle rode away, and Lem plunged
into the bushes beside the road to Friendly-
town, where Hixton was confined.

CHAPTER XIX.

FRIENDS IN COUNCIL.

On a cool Autumn evening, Mr. William
Hixton lay on the uninviting bed of the only
cell in Friendlytown jiil, and indulged
in bitter reflections. He should have been
asleep; other people slept. There was not
even a streak of light visible under the door
of any liquor-shop in town. A volunteer
orchestra of owls and other night-birds,
assisted by a chorus of frogs, dogs and mos-
quitos, was emitting chords discordant
enough to drive one to sleep in pure self-
defence. But Mr. Hixton failed to sleep,
from any cause whatever. He soliloquised
and he swore ; the latter operation is un-
worthy of repetition, but tlie results of the
former conveyed a certain amount of infor-
mation wl/icli the reader may possibly hnd
avaihible.

" (Jourt 11 sit — let's set' — day after to-mor-
row, as sure as I'm alive, and there ain't a
lawyer on the ciiouit that's smart enough to
get me cli', even if the Regulators don't
snatch n),e out and stnng me up to a tree be-
fore that. If P>inU]e"s little game works, all
right; it it should hang tire, I'd be worse off
that I am now. Darn it, it voiild be tough
to string me up, if 1 tun a — a dealer in hoss-
Hesh. Queer how thing's go in this world ;
I've never done anything but make ott' with
a few horses, and yet I'm in jail, while
there's Binkle, that's made a hundred times
as much money in a way that ain't any bet-
ter, has never been caught at it yet. There's
something wrong in the way this world is
nianagfc'd. Hello ! what's that ?"

Mr. Hixtons soldoquy had been inter-
rupted by a sharj), low whistle. The prisoner
put under the cell window a stool, upon
which he sprang, and stood on tip-toe.

" I don't know that whistle," said he,
after scanning the jail-yard intently for
some minutes. " Confound it, the world's
80 dishonent that nobody knows who to
trust. Mebbe Biiikle's sent some green man

— mebbe, again, it's some of them infernal
Regulators. If they come, I wonder how
many there'll be of 'im ? Them two revol-
vers that Binkle lett me would clean out a
common crowd — I t.on't believe anybody else
in this (rod-forsaken country has got a re-
volver, or knows what one is. And my
knife — oh, I guess I could get out, but then
there'd be the job of hidin'. Dog-gone it,
why can't they 16t business-men alone ?"

Again the horse -thief heard the whistl®*
and at the same moment there was a shadoW^
at his cell window, and something fell with
a sharp metallic ring upon the floor.

"A file, bless the Lord !" exclaimed the
thief, groping on the floor with his hands.
Suddenly a slight rustling and another
metallic jingle was heard, and the file was
snatched up to and out of the grating again.
The horse- thief let slip a violent exclamation,
and sprang upon his stool beneath the grat-
ing. At the same time another face appeared
outside the grating. The two shadows con-
fronted each other, and indulged in the fol-
lowing dialogue :

' * You know what that was ? Twas a file
— you could cut your way out with that in
an hour or two."

" I know it. Why the didn't you

leave it there after you got it in ?"

" 'Cos I want to talk to you fust. If I
help you get out what are you goin' to do ?"

" fioin' to do? — I'm goin' to get out of this
neighbourhood as soon as I can, and iff ay out
of it."

" W^hat are you goin' to do for a livin' ?
That's what I mean."

" Do what I always done, I s'pose. "

" You musn't— it ain't right. There's
folks — smart folks, that ought to know —
that say you're good for something better."

" 1 wish they'd give me a chance at it,
then. "

" Will yon use it if you get it V"

" Yes, 1 will."

" W'hat'il you do ?"

" Go to Texas and raise stock."

*' Have you got any fa;, ily ?"

" Yes — I've got a — curse you, I believe
you're an oflicer. "

"No I ain't."

" You're tryin' the friendly dodge to get
iiiformation out of me to use against me.
You needn't come any of your infernal high
moral tricks on me — I'm up to trap."

" You needn't be afraid of nie. I'll stick
tighter to you than any friend you've got, if
you'll only not hurt me after you get out by
goin' 1)ack to — to — "

" Hoss-stealin' ?"

" I s'pose that's the only name for it.
Mebbe if I get you out J'll get caught, an' be
sent to State's prison. An' I'm. williu'.
— have you got any family ?"

anytl

But

her-

onlv

that'l

comfl

wish!

Th('![

arouil

tod€

Only

THE JERICHO ROAD.

" I've got a mother, but you won't find out
anything more until — "

" I don't want to find out anything more.
But just think how happy you'd make
her — a big smart feller like you— if you'd
only do what's right. There's fellers
that's got mothers an' ain't fit to be any
comfort to 'em, an' they just envy you. an'
wish they had your grit and headpiece.
Thcji don't take to hoss-stealin* — they hang
around, starvin' and hopin', an' gettin' scared
to death. "

'* Have yon got any mother ?"

"Yes."'

" Tlien you shan't help me out. Go away.
Tie the string with the file on it to the
gratin' — I won't draw it in till you're safe
out of sight."

"I won't do it — you mightn't get safe to
the ground, and if you got lamed you might
get catched. "

"Go away, anyhow — I'd rather run m^
chance than get you in jail 'cause I got out.
I don't mind tellin' you that somebody else
is goin' to get me out if you don't. I'm
safe— go along, but you might leave the
string where I can reach it."

"You won't go back to the old business,
even if somebody else lets you out, will
you r

"No — I swear to God I won't."

There was a slight rustle of the aarments
of the shadow outside the grating ; then a
small black square shatlow appeared beside
the larger one outside ; it was thrust
through the grating, with the words —

"Kiss the book."

The sound of moving lips was heard.

" You might as well keep the book now
you've got it," wliispered the outer .shadoM-.
" I ain't an extra-good reader, an' there's
things in it that 1 don't make out, but they
say it's the best thing in the worl<l for uion
that's tryin' to turn evur a new leaf. Here's
the file— remember your mother. I'll pne.ik
up an' help ycm out when you're ready."

" Steady I" whi.speied the other shallow,
"(jive me your hand — count on me for your
life. Who are you ? — how can 1 let you
knoM' whei e 1 get to, and how can you reach
me if you ever need money or friends ?

"I'mtlie feller you gave a boss to once,
an' then saved him from the Reguhitors. "

"Great Goil !' exclaimed the otlier sha-
dow. 'I'lnm it snatched the lile and began
work, with an energy not justly attributable
to shadows.

At the same moment a figure glided away
from the inner door of the cell, where it had
been crouching during tlie entire conversa-
tion. It passed through the narrow hall-
way which separated the cell from the
jailor's apartments, noiselessly opened the

door, slipped rapidly along the wall, and
peered around the corner of the building in
time to see Lem crouch behind a barrel near
the fence. Then the figure withdrew its
head, passed under cover of the jail to the
street, went noiselessly and with bare feet
through the street, down an alley, and into
another alley, on one side of which is the
high board fence of the jail.

The scene which here met his eye did not
seem to suprise him, but it was nevertheless
unusual and peculiar. Fifteen or twenty
men— all of them respectable, hard-working
oitizens, and some of them church-members
— were ranged along the fence, peering
tlirough cracks anil knot-holes. and each man
held a pistol of some sort. The new-comer
glided along the line, scrutinizing each man,
and receiving friendly nods in return. At
length lie seemed to find the man for whom
he was searching, and, laying his hand on his
shoulder, exclaimed :

"Major, this thing's got to stop."

"AVliy, what in thunder's the matter,
Sheriff ?" whispered the Major, straighten-
ing himself up, and pocketing the pistol,
while two or three other men approached
them and thrust tiioir heads forward.

" 1 can't easily tell vvliat's up. said the
Sheriff. " I wish you'd all heard it for your-
self. I've heard enough to make me Bill
Hixton's friend. There ain't to be any
lynching around here to-night. I'll .stop his
breaking (nit, if you say so, but if I do
you've got to agree not to break in."

"Can't you tell Avhat the you're

driving at ?" demanded the man upon whose
Jiorse Lem vva.s riding a few months before,
when he was captured by the Ivegulators.

The Sheriff seemed to swallow' some-
thing, not with the greatest success ; then
he spoke in a hiM', dogged tone :

"It'.sjust this; that chap that's helpin'
him is the poor little cuss that Bill gave
yinir lios.s to, and that the rest of the crowd
came near haiigin', only that Bill was man
enough til c'lnif in and tell the truth, and
get some cold lead for his ]iains. "

" Then the little scoundrel irnt< in with
Bill and his gang," said the Major. "That's
just the way us fellows let business slip
throir^h our lingers when we're excited."

" >io, he wasn't," replied the Sheriff.
" Bill didn't know who he was to-night till
the very last minute. And the way that
little cuss preached to him — why, it would
have converted the devil, he was so infern-
ally 111 earnest ahout it."

"Bill Hixton's irome than the devil,'"
whilijered (»arman. "Who ever caught the
devil jn-owlin' around an' stealin' honest
farmers' hossef ?"

" Well, Bill's a man of his word, any

TITE JERICHO ROAD.

ti\'

way," said tli;^ Sheriff, " an' ho ^;avc that
hoy his word that if he got out huM give up
tlie road, and go to Texas and raise stock.
And what do you think ? that little cuss
was so sharp that he stuck a Testament
through the window and made Bdl swear
on it."

"If he comes to trial," said the Major
rellectively, "he'll get the full term— twenty
years. He'd nither be hung by Regulators
than stay in jail that long, if there's any
live spirit in him. And then if he ever did
break out, he'd be worse than ever— men
always urow worse in jail than they do any-
where else.

" Why not let him get out to-night ?" said
the Sheriff. " I'm the one it'll come hardest
on ; I'll lose my re election by it, and p'raps
get something worse. Yoit "fellows haven't
got anything to lose by it. "

"I didn't lose a boss by him, I s'pose ?"
growled (iarman.

"You've got him back, and a decent
saddle with him," retorted the Sheriff ; "ycm
may steal vu/ horse every week on those
terms, if you like."

One by one the Regulators left their points
of observation and clustered about the
speakers, until only one man remained
watching the jail. Suddenly the watcher
cockeil his pistol ; in an instant the Sheriff'
snatched it away. Looking through a knot-
hole, he saw the prisoner's head and
sh(udders emerging from the window, while
Lem stood on a l)ox beneath the window,
trying to assist.

"Boys," said the Sheriff, rapidly and
hoarsely, " let him go. I swear here before
the whole crowd to own u]) to the whole
trick myself, if Bill's ever heard of again as
being at his old tricks. I'll — "

"He's getting out," whispered a man on
the look-out. " Duty ! boys — duty !"

Fully half the men sprang toward the fence.
The Sheriff snatched his pistols from his pock-
et, ran back and forth, pushing men back as
he whispered — almost hissed:

"There, I'll do 7?i/y duty. By virtue of
the authority in me v ed by the State of
Illinois, I command you to disperse, and al-
low me to recapture my prisoner. These
pistols are revolvers — six shots a piece. I'll
shoot the first man who lays a hand on or
tires a shot at my prisoner— so heir) me
God !"

"Have it your own way, Sheriff, if you
mean to re-captnre, " said tlie Major with ex-
quisite blan iness, after a moment, in which
every one had dropped his pistol-hand. " You
agree to call on us if you need help to grab

htm r

"Yes," whispered the Skeriff, peering
through a crack in the fence. "Hei'ihe

comes— the little chap with him— they're
talkin' — now listen for yourselves."

Everybody S(iueezeil close to the fence.
The horse-thief and his deliverer reached a
corner of the fence and halted. Hixton faced
Lem anfl put out his hand.

" You're the first real friend I ever had in
my life," said the thief, "and I don't know
how to thank you enough."

" You don't owe me anything,"' said Lem,
" only don't get into the old business again.
Remember your mother."

" I wish I had something to give you,"
said Hixton, " but I gave all my money to a
counterfeiter the other day to have me got
out; and the Sheriff seems to have found my
revolvers and packed 'em out on the sly,
I couldn't find 'em just now when I got
ready to leave. "

" I'll give you the money Pve got — you
can send it to my mother — Mrs. Pankett,
Middle Backville, New York, when you earn
it, honestly," said Lem.

" I w(m't take it," said Hixton. " I can
work my way wherever I go. I^ook here,
'^'•^V) y**ii want to look out for yourself.
There's hard cases in this part of the State
just now, and you're the sort of a fellow
they'll get for to do their dirty work for 'em.
If you see any strangers with ■[)lenty of
money, shy oft" trom 'em — you hear ?"

"Never mind me," said Lem; "remember
everything you've promised. "

"If this thing shouhl be tracked to you,"
said the thief, " I'll hear about it some way,
and see that you're helped to break out."

"I don't want you to," said Lem.
" 'T would get you in with your old crowd
again. I'd rather be tried and go the peni-
tentiary than have you do that."

Outside the fence, Mr. Garmau slipped up
to the Sheriff and whispered:

" Let him go, Sherift', for the boy's sake —
hrii clear grit."

"Good-bye, my boy — -time's Hyin', and I
must have my tracks covered before day-
light," said the thief.

Lem dropped on his knees and leaned
against Hixton.

" You're the beat friend / ever had," said
he. " I hope I'll see you again some day."

The horse thief stopped and put his hands
(m tiie boy's head. " I'll keep track of //«»,"
said he, " and if I don't behave myself for
any other reason, I'll do it to oblige the only
man who ever put himself out on my ac-
count. Now, travel — I won't get over this
fence till I see you off —our roads don'^t run
the same way. "

Lem hurried off to the front of the yard;
at the same time the Major approached the
Sheriff and whispered:

"Let him off for his own sake !"

The

still 111

man (i

tlie otl

the fei

"Ul

"Fij

going!

out !"l

Mr.I

praisel

IN wit

THE JERICHO I!0A1).

The thief climbed the fence ; th(; .Sheriff
still held his pistols, seeing which Mr. (Jar-
man (luietlj' seized one arm and tlie Major
tlie other. The thief reached tlie top of
the fence, saw tlie crowd, aiul growled:

"Who tiie devil are jtou /"

''Friends," replied the Major, " who were
going to lynch yon lialf-an-hour ago. (Jet
out !"

Mr. Hixton followed his instructions with
praiseworthy alacrity.

CHAPTEK XX.

IN WHICH THE HEKO STICKS TO HIS FRIENDS.

When Lem approached Mount Zion
through the early dawn of the follo^'uig
morning, it was with aching head and weary
limbs. Whatever (pialms of conscience he
had suffered during his long walk, were lost
in a mind never strong, and now too exhaust-
ed to consider questions of caduistry. Keach-
ing the aliandoned toll-house, he dropped
upon the floor, and was asleep in an instant.

How h)iig he slept he did not know, but
he was finally aroused by feeling hands in
his pockets. Opening his eyes, he found the
hands belonged to the .Sheriff of his own
county, Avhile that olhcer's deputy sat upon
the Hoor a few paces away. Lem started
up and. the .SheritT retreated a step or two, j
looking at the startled boy with an expres- j
sion of the most sincere sorrow. !

"I'm awfully sorryfor you, Lem," said the I
Sheriff; ".sorrier than I ever was for anybody ,
except that splendid steamboat clerk "that I ■
had to hang for killing a man. I never sup- ;
posed you'd come down to running counter- |
feits on people." ;

"I haven't," said Lem, indigiumtlv. %

"I hope you didn't kni)w aliout it," re-
plied the Sheriff, "but ^t looks l)ad ; tliei'e's '
four or five bills been traced back to you,
and I've got a warrant for your arrest, and
I searched you wliile you were asleep, !
thinking you mightn't feel so ))ad about it as i
if you Mere awake. You don't seem to have i
any bad money al)0ut you now. Suppose ;
now, you explain how you got the bills that j
you spent in town, and mayhe jcm can clear j
yourself be .ore the thing can be made inib- i
lie." i

Lem looked vacant, then confused, then I
dogged and sullen. The Sheriff' watched i
his face closely, and finally asked : |

'• You didn't know they were counterfeits,
did you ?" i

"No," said Lem with such vehemence!
that, added to the look of outraged iuno- I

I ceuce his face took on, almost assured the
I officer that Lem was guiltless.
I " Wlicrc; did you get them, then':" asked
i the Sheriff

I Lem pondered a moment, and replied : "If
i I tell, utiicr folks'll be arrestoil tiie same
way, 1 s'pose. I won't do it. Besides,
; they'll tell tlieinselves when they lind that
j I've got into trouble al)out it."
I "I hope they will, any way," said the
I Sheriff, " but until tiie matter's cleared
I up, I'll have to hold you a prisoner."

" Will — will I have to go to jail ?" asked
Lem. The .Sheriff' nodded gravely, and the
unhappy prisoner dropped his head. Though
he drew his hat down over his eyes, the
Sheriff' soon saw tears trickling down Lem's
face.

" I'll tell you what I'll do, Lem," said
the .Sheriff', " I'll leave you here, with Tur-
ner to watcli you, until dark ; then he can
bring you u[) to the jail without anybody
seeing you. And I'll not let on in town that
we've found you, and I'll say everywhere
that I don't believe you knew anj'thing
about the kind of money you were passing —
I don't l)elieve it, either."

"Thank you very much," said Lera; "and
like enough it'll be all explain<;d away before
■then."

" Well, Turner, you look out for him, "
said tlie Sheriff. " Have you got a deck of
cards with you ?"

" I reckon," said the deputy.

"(Jot pipes and tobacco?"

"Only one pipe."

"I'll lend Lem mine, then," said the
Sheriff', producing a clay bowl with a reed
stem. " Leni, it^' boy, will you give me
your word that you won't try to run? I'm
tloing what I can for ijo'i."
,j,;" Yes, I will, .Sheriff," said Lem. "I'm
not afraid of anything happening to krvp me
in jail, and I'd rather i>e cleared iiito\\n than
run away an' dodge it."

" Hurrah for he !" .said the Sheriff. "I
guess you'll come out all right. Now I'll
put. I've been hanging around here all
night."

The afteriioon wore away rapidly. Lem •
smoked more than his weak head could
stand with comfort, and played ohl sledge
very steailily, for whatever intervals of
thought he had were not comforting in their
results. He hi>ped Biiikle and Lodge would
return, and at once eleai' him, as they un-
doulitedly could. Once tliere came into his
head, as quickly and painfully as he imagined
a bullet might have done. Bill Hixton's
parting remark about stiangers with plenty
of money. Could it be that his friends were
not otlicers after all? Might they not be
dealers in bad money ? The thoug'nt was so

THE JERICHO ROAD.

terrible that he absent-mindedly played his
knave upon his comp, ion's (lueen, though
he had two smaller trumps in his hand.

Suddenly, as both men had their heads
together, trying to light fresh pipes with
the same match, tliere was a shadow
cast from the doorway toward which the
deputj' had his back ; before the ofhoer
could look aiduud to ascertain the cause, he
received a tremendous bhjw on the head,
which knocked him senseless, while Lem,
looking up, beheld Bill Kixton.

'' (iet out that door and onto my horse —
he's where your bosses used to tie theirs —
and gallop down to New Pliiladeli)hia ;
there's a boat just leaving Mount Zion, aiul
you'll catch it if you gallop lively. Here's
money — plenty of "^ ^- • ^ •'•~-
reach Vicksburgh-
week or two. "

break me out of jail. He made believe he-
sent //o», and told me how he put the notion
in your liead, but when I told him of the-
way that you and me had met twice before,
he owned up beat, and shelled out the money.
Now look here, my boy, you've saved my
neck, but I once saved yours, and I demand
a favour of you. Do as I tell you, and get
out of this country. You can't do any good
by stay in' — if you go, you can count on me
for life, and see your folks well +",ken care
of. If you don't go I'll get on this horse,
and ride into town, give myself up to the
.Sheriff, and swear that / run that money on
you

Lem gathered up the reins, Hixton pulled

a twig from a tree and gave the horse a

it— don^t stop till you j sharp cut, and away dashed the animal at a

I'll meet you there in a ] pace which compelled Lem to hold tightly to

I mane and saddle to keep from falling.

'* I won't do it," said Lem. I " '^^^ ^^"" ^" front of the warehouse at

Mr. Hixton straightened himself from the New Philadelphia," shouted Hixton ; then
stooping posture in which he had been blind- [ he exclaimed in a deep undertone :
folding and tying tlie unconscious deputy, : " Thunder ! that infernal deputy sheriff
and stared fixedly at Lem. Recovering must have heard that — I'll have to put him
his tongue, he asked : I where his boss can't find him."

'« Why not ?" _ I

" Because my bosses '11 clear me when I

thev get liack, aii' I'm not goin' away with a j

batiname " j CHAPTER XXI.

The ex-thief picked Lem up as if he had i
been a baby, curried him through the un- j publii' opinion.

derbrush to where the horse was tied, saying
as he walked : i Bad news and damaging reports travelled

" Your Ixjsses, Binkle and Lodge, are the } as rapidly at Mount Zion as they ever did in
smartest shovers of counterfeit money in the ' the best society, so it came to pass that every

whole West — they've been playing it on you
this week or so. I met 'em not three hours
ago, and heard all aboi^^it. They'd hcHrd
about the warrant out for j'ou, and I be-
lieve they were both real Horiy for you, but
they're a couple of infernal cowards, and
wouldn't try to rescue you. They talked
about lettin' you go to jail, and then hiring
somebody to break you out. I told \'m Vd
'tend to that jol). Now gallop your liveliest,
' and do as 1 tell you .to."

" I gave- the Sheriff my word that I
would't run away," said Lem.

Hixton set Lem upon the horse, and drew
a jjistol.

" Mind me !" said he.

Lem looked at the pistol, and shuddered ;
then lie asked ;

'* AVhere did you get this horse ?"

" Bought him— I'm a man of my word,
j'oungster. "

" Wliere did you get the money?"

" Of Binkle."

" Counterfeit ?"

" No -he owed me two hundred and fifty,
good money, that I payed him to do v hat he
didn't do ; he was to hare sent somebody to

body soon knew the worst about Lem, and,
apparently, a great deal in addition to the
truth. Tlie news was undoubtedly received
with sincere regret by many good people, but
these were of a kind who did not enjoy
gossip. Many others seemed to find a kind
oksatisfaction' in the import of the stories,
i^not of men, who were waiting at the post-
office for the arrival of the nuiil, listened to
such reports as each other had heard, and
wlien one of them expressed the opinion that
f,em Avas a bad egg, he did not hear a dis-
senting voice.

"Like enough it was all a trick, his get-
ing to Mount Zion the way he did," suggest-
ed Major Moydle,who was the most brilliant
theorist and irresponsible purchaser in the
county.

"What, and smash up a steamboat to do
it ?" asked the postmastei'.

"Like enough," replied the Major, cock-
ing his hat over his eye in a most defiant
manner, and assuming an attitude of self-
defence. "There's nothing that such fel-
lows won't do to carry their point. The
pilot of that boat said that the least turn of
the wheel, one way or the other, would settle

everyt

swean

but h(

Lem t

the st

have]

right

''Tl

whose

had

on tl

"I've

I kno

THE JERICHO ROAD.

■everything in such a scrape as that was. He
swears he didn't turn it — probably he didn't;
but how easy it would have been for that
Lein to have had a line fastened to one of
the steering-chains near tlie rudder, and
have given it a little bit of a haul at just the
right minute. "

"That's so, "ejaculated old Captain Dilinan,
whose singing and honest religious ecstacy
had had so profound f,,; effect upon Lein
on the night of the Methodist meeting.
"I've been around the world three times, and
I know such a trick could be played, easy
■enough."

Everybody looked at the stove during a
moment of silence, as if it were a source ol
ideas; then storekeeper Potts spoke up —

"I never liked that fellow's looks," said
he. "Perhaps the Major and Captain's
right ; that accounts for the awful face Lem
always had when he thought nobody was
looking at him. There seemed to be some-
thing awful on his mind — remorse, like
enough, for destroying so much property as
a good steamboat amounts to. "

"And for killin' his father," suggested a
countryman, who was caressing the stove-
pipe.

"Oh, yes ! — of course — I forgot that, 'said
the merchant. "No Wonder he looked as
he did. And who knows how many counter-
feits he gave out in change from the Squire's
store ?"

"Guess the Squire wouldn't cry much if he
knew it," muttered a man upon whom the
Squire had recently foreclosed a chattel
mortgage. One or two men Jiughed. Mr.
Potts put on a deprecatory expretjsion, but
took care to say nothing in defence of his
rival.

"I never did believe in sudden con-
versions," remarked a good, kind-hearted
Presbyterian. "Here 'twas told all around
town a month or two ago that that boy had
been bom again — now Took at him !"

" There 'b counterfeit conversions, as well
ae counterfeit money," retorted the Metho-
dist ex-sailor, with considerable warmth.
"That peddler's waggon that gave short
weights all round the county a year ago, was
druv' by a Presbyterian in good standiu'.
My belief is that Lem was only playin' pos-
sum when he made out that he'd gave him-
self to Jesus. If the Squire hadn t set him
agin' him so, like enough he'd have jined
the Presbyterians — then what 'd you have
|;ot off about sudden conversions ?"

" Mail open !" shouted the postmaster, in
time to prevent these right-hearted cham-
pions from contending any longer for the
laith as it was delivered unto themselves.

An hour later the conversation above had
been welded into the symmetrical statement

that Lem had oome to Mount Zion for the
express purpose of issuing counterfeit money ;
that he had, with malice aforethought, de-
stroyed the steamboat, and killed his own
father during the excitement, to escape re-
cognition by the parent who had tracked
him everywhere in the hope of reclaiming
him ; then, his peculiar expression was due
to remorse— that he had shammed conver-
sion, that he had passed much bad iiioueyjn
change from behind the Squire's counter,
and that the Squire had winked at the opera-
tion.

The news reached the Squire through his
own pastor, wiio earnestly begged a denial of
the imputation against his parishioner's hon-
esty, and received one, couched in language
so positive that it made hitn shudder and
hurry away. The Squire's eyes Hashed tire
for a few minutes ; then he lapsed into his
accustomed religious melancholy, and started
for his supper.

" What's wrong with yc- ow, and why
wasn't you home to dinner was the greet-
ing the Squire received at his own kitchen
door.

"I was busy at dinner time," said the
Squire, " aud — O, Marg'ret, this is an awful
wicked world !"

" You haven't been trustin' no other good-
for-nothin' that's died without enough to pay
his debts, I hope," exclaimed Mrs. Barkum.
"No, Margret, I haven't," replied the
Squire, with considerable peevishness, "an'
it ain't fair for you to be all the time throw-
in' that one case up to me — every other
storekeeper has done that twenty times. But
Item's turned out a counterfeiter !"

" An' passed some bad money on you?"
asked Mrs. Barkum, setting down her teacup.

" I never thought you'd get caught at "

"Oh! no, Marg'ret," groaned the Squire,
' ' what makes you snatch me up so ? I
haven't took in a counterfeit for a year. But
they do say that he smashed up that steam>
boat himself — it was insured in the Illinois
Mutual, too, where we have to participate in
ev'ry loss ; an' that he helped kill his father,
an' made-believe got religion, an' passed
counterfeit money in makin' change at my
store."

" Has any of it been sworn back to you ?"
asked Mrs. Barkum.
" No," said the Squire.
"Then I wouldn't believe a word of it,"
said Mrs. Barkum. "Besides," said the
good lady, poising a spoonful of apple-sauce
in mid-air, " 'twuuldn't cost you anything if
he had done it. "

The Squire groaned, and hurriedly whis-
pered "sh — h — h!" Slowly, however, he
seemed to realize that his wife had spoken
the truth, and his face exhibited a resigned

THE JERICHO ROAD.

expression, and then indicated coneiderable
satisfaction, as he exchiimed:

" I do declare, Alarg'rut, you have got
head for business. You've hit it, even if a
of the bad money sliould be traced tr
store. But just isn't it a sptAcial prov'
that we didn't take him again when h
back from SaniKeeves ? Time an' a^ . 1
felt as if it would be only just an' merciful
to hire him again, but somethin' inside of me
kep' sayin' ' don't do it.' I didn't once ini- i
agine 'twas a voice from heaven, i actually i
kept thinkin', over an' over, that it was the |
sellish instincts of a depraved nature, like i
all men's got. I iiope 1 didn't grieve the j
Holy Spirit by suchmisunderstandin'. " i

" / hope," said Mrs. Barkum, laying down |
her knife and fork with an imposing crash,
" that you didn't commit the unpardonable]
sin. 'Taint no small matter, layin' the I
doin's of (iod to your owm sinful natuie. '
What are you thinkin' about, stariu' out of I
the window t'lat way, Scpiire ? — what arc j
you scribblin' with a lead pencil for ?" I

Tlie Scpiire did not answer for a moment ; I
then he said : \

" Lem was in an' around the store for nine
weeks ; s'posin' he made change only once a
tlay, which is a small average, an' only i
gave out a single bad dollar each time, I'ni j
fifty-four dollars ahead. Let's give, it to the ,
Lord, Marg'rct — it ain't right to keep such '
money ; an' if we subscribe it to some bene- j
volent society, it'll bring us trade. An' the |
Lord'll "■ I

" Why, what's the man thinkin' about ?"
exclaimed Mrs. Barkum. " If I, em gave
out a bad bill, makiu' change for you, don't
you s'pose he took a good one out of your
money-drawer to pay for it ? Y^nl don't
make anything by it— don't you see V"

The Squire dropped his head in his hands.
" Oh, dear me," he exclaimed, " why didn't
I see that before V Now if anybody should
swear a bill back on me, ' twould be a dead
loss. We took him out of charity, Marg'ret,
an' if we lose anything by him, charity ought
to pay for it. Seein' that such a matter may
come up, let's cut off our subscriptions to
the Bible Society an' everything else, an'
mebbe we'll get through without any loss. I
wish I U)Hid let the Lord' business alone,
so he could 'tend to it himself — I alwaya
blunder at it. "

CHAPTER XXII. '' '

WESTERN COURTS AND WESTERN JUSIICE.

Lem galloped along towards New Phila-
delphia, not so much from fear of the officers
of the. law as of Hixton. He saw from the
bluff overhanging the river bottoms, the

steamboat round up to the front of the ware-

' • e which constituted the principal i)art of

• Pliiladelphia, and he quickened his

;e. He threw his bridle over one of the
i.is of a horse-rick in front of the ware-
iiouse,anil was stepping upon the steamboat's
plank, when he felt a hand on his shoulder ;
looking (piickly around,he beheld the Slierifl'
fiom Mount Zion. Lem turned pale, and
then red, while the SherifTsaid:

"I wasn't looking for you, but I guess
I'd liet*^ take you along. I've got your
boss."

"Hixton ?" screamed Lem.

" .All, //(((/'.s' the secret, is it?" exclaimed
the Sherilf. "Well, I'm sorry for //oh, if you
did break your word. "

"I didn't" said Lem, with considerable
indignation, "I "

"Slop, my boy," said the Sheriff; I'm not
prosecuting attorney, and I don't want to be
a witness aeainst you. Don't say a word
that'll commit you, unless you do it to your
lawyer — that's my advice. But you're go-
ing to have a hard row to hoe. And I've got
an unpleasant duty to perform, which the
quicker it's done the better. So saying, the
vSherifl slipped a pair of handcuff's upon Lem's
wrists, led him to his horse, and placed him
thereon. Then he whistled to one of his de-
puties, who came from the warehouse, and
with whom he held a whispered consultation,
after which he mounted las own horse and
led Lem's toward the village of Mount Zion,
seven miles distant. When the Sheriff" was
well oiit of sight, hisassistant stai ted, leading
a horse upon which sat Mr. Binkle,his hands
fastened behind his back, and his feet strap-
ped under the saddle. Arrived at Mount
Zion the Sheriff' put Lein into an upper
chamber, and Mr. Binkle into the single cell
of the jail.

The regular session of the county court,
which opened on the first day of the fol-
lowing week, had no lack of business before
it. Cases of assault and battery, jictty lar-
ceny, neighbourhood quarrels, suits for large
amounts of money, and other cases peculiar
to the dockets of courts in new countries,
were numerous, but the grand jury knew
its business, and quickly found a bill of in-
dictment against Lemuel Pankett for con-
spiring with Martin Luther Binkle, and
other persons unknown to the court, to emit
utter, circulate, pass and exchange imitations
of the notes of banking institutions in good
repute. About the same time it was whis-
pered about the town that Mr. Binkle had
turned State'sevidence against the remainder
of the gang. The county pulse was up to
fever heat; by mutual consent the attorneys
in the oases on the calendar for the next day

made
opened
" Tl
The
some

THE JEUICHO KOAl).

guess
your

made excuse, so an hour after the court
opened, tlie clork shouted;
"The htate cs. Pankett."
The populace liad evidently anticipated
some such accommodating arrangement for
an early trial, for the rooom was crowded.
Men stood in the window sills, and crowded
the judge more closely than was comfortable
while among the lawyers, in fiont of the
jury box, and directly facing the prisoner,
on a chair considerately placed for him by a
deputy who owed liim considerable money,
sat Squire Barkum. The good man's mind
was too severely overborne by sor-ow to ad-
mit of his being idly curious : he leaned back
in his chair and looked out of the window,
behind the Judge, into the clouds — looking,
as he afterwards said, to see if he coidd find
out where sin (uiginated, and consequently
like most human beings who meddle with
things above their comprehension, looking in
the wrong direction.

" Lemuel Pankett ! Lemuel Pankett !
Lemuel Pankett !" shouted the Sheriff ;
"come into court !"

The crowd near the door opened, and in a
moment Lem, esc(n-ted l)y his late comj)anion
at cards and tobacco, Deputy-Sherift' Turner,
was conducted to the ))risoner'sbox. Every-
body leaned forward and enjoyed a good
stare, while the prisoner dropped his eyes,
and his face flushed. Good Squire Barkum
stood up, adjusted his glasses, and looked
reproachfully at the prisoner, noticing which,
Lem held up his head and stareil defiantly.
The sorrowful old man groaned and ^xt
down.

A jury was soon empaneled; the only (lues-
tion propounded to any juryman by Bill Fus- i
sell, who had volunteered as Lem's counsel,
being as to whetheihe had within six months
received any counterfeit bank-notes which
he believed had been brought into the county
by the accused or any supposed accomplices.
Numerous witnesses were called, and estab-
lished the fact that they had received coun-
terfeits, mostly large notes, which had in
every case been traced to Lem Pankett.
Finally the clerk said :
"Call Martin Luther Binkle."
" Martin Luther Binkle ! Martin Luther
Binkle ! Martin Luther Binkle ! come into
court !" shouted the Sheriff".

Mr. Binkle soon appeared, assisted by a
deputy ; his handcuffs were removed, and
he took the witness-chair as if it was his
customary lounging place, winked at his own
lawyer, bowed to the judge, rubbed his
hands, and looked about him with an air of
general proprietorship. When the oath was
administered, he kissed the book with a
hearty smack, as if he enjoyed the opera-
tion ; and but for a temporary cloud which

passed over his brow as he noticed something
apparently unpleasing in the gallery, he
seemed a good natured, wide-awake business
man.

"Mr. Binkle," said the i)rosecuting attor-
ney, " do you know Lemuel Pankett, the
prisoner at the bar '!'"

"Yes, sir."

"How long ?"

"A few days — about a fortnight, say."

" Have you cvei- known him to have
counterfeit money in his possession ?"

" Yes, sir."

"How much — or how much at a time ?"

"Ulf and on, })erha))S a thousand dollars —
three hundred dollars on one single occa-
sion."

"Yiiu know the money was counterfeit ?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

"Because I'm an expert in that sort of
thing — I supplied it to him myself."

"Had he any accomplices ?"

Mr. Binkle looked at his counsel ; the
lawyer frowned.

" I decline to answer that question," s^'d
]\lr. Binkle. " L^^nder my arrangement with
the authoritit^s, I am only l)ound to give
sucOi evidence as will criminate the j>ri-
soner. "

" Do you know whether he spent any of
these counterfeits ?" asked the prosecutor.

" Yes, sir, he did."

" How do you know '!"

" Because he hadn't a da — hadn't a cent
when I first saw him, and was half crazy
because he hadn't. I gave him a twenty-
dollar counterfeit, and in an hour he was
I back with a bottle of liniment, and nineteen
d(dlars in money. '

" Any other cases ?"

"I gave him three hundred dollars in

I counterfeits one day, and in twenty-four

I hours he was back with three good horses

! and nearly a hundred and fifty dollars in

good money."

" Did anybody else give him any bad
money to spend ':"

" Yes, sir — ^my partner."
" What's his name V"

" May it please your honour, "exclaimed
ex- Judge Compston, Binkle's attorney,
springing to his feet, " T object to the wit-
ness answering that question. The law
holds that the mere possession of counterfeit
money is a misdemeanor, and punishable to
the full extent of the law, made to cover the
worst cases of counterfeiting. The witness
has established this. I object to the putting
to him of any irrelevant questions."

" 'Tain't the fair thing to play on a gen-
tleman, in an up-and-down business transac

THK JERICHO ROAD.

tioa," remarked the witness, looking arouuil
him for syinpatliy.

" Tlie witness will be (iuiet," said the
Judge, " and the proseeutiiiy attorney must
be bonud by the agreement which was made
by the fState with tlie witness."

" Cross-examine,'' sanl the prosecutor,
dropping sulkily into his chair. Bdl Kussell
arose and a<hlressed the witness :

" Do you believe the 2)risoner knew the
money you gave him was counterfeit ?"

"No."

" Why ?"

" Because I wouldn't have a man sho^e
queer money for me after he knew what it
was -it takes all business ways rijfht out of
him."

" What was he doing at New Philadelphia
for you '!"

" Nothing."

" What were you doing there?"

" Waiting for a boat to take me out of the
country."

" VV>at for ?"

"1 thought some of the counterfeits would
be found out pretty sov)u, I'd got otf such a
lot of them tiirough him."

" Was he going with you V"

"No."

" Why •!"

" Because I hadn't asked him to, he didn't
know I was going, and I wouldn't have had
him with me if he'd wanted to go. "

" Why not?"

" Because he'd found out what my busi-
ness was. "

" How did he find out ?"

" Bill "

A pistol-shot startled the court, and the
witness fell out of his chair, bleeding profuse-
ly from the chest. Every one, the Judge in-
cluded, sprang up, and the Judge shouted,
" Mr. Sheriff 1 preserve order !" but the
Sheriff hurried to the side of the wounded
man, and whispered :

36
• "BiUHixton?"

" The Bible — quick !" gasped the witness.
" As I hope to be saved from hell, the boy
never had a notion of what we were up to,
and was trying to run away from «« when
he was caught. I acknowledge the Lord
Jusus Christ to be "

The witness's voice failed him. His face
twitched into agonized lines, every one of
which was eloquent, but nobody could read
them. By a violent effort he recovered his
voice, and gasped:

"A inau that — the boy — loved and helped
— told him : he — was the only— only friend
the boy — ever had, if — if he was a — horae-
thief. I'm dying — trusting only in the —
merits of — Jesus Christ "

"Shocking!" exclaimed Squire Barkum.

" It's what i/ou'll any when you die, isn't
it, you old 8Cf)undrel ?" said Bill Fussell,
confronting the Squire.

" Mr. Sheriff, you miinf keep order," said
the Judge. " Who else will the prosecution
call?"

" Nobody," said the prosecuting attorney,
as the Slieriff shouted " Order !" with great
vigour, and sent deputies in search of the
murderer.

" Will tlie defence call any one ?"

"No, your honour — we rest," said Bill
Fussell, " and trust to the good sense of the
jury."

The jurymen looked at each other, and ex-
changed some rapid words ; the foreman
stood up and exclaimed :

" Not Guilty !"

"Order! gentlemen," shouted the clerk.
"Gentlemen of the jury, arise and h)ok upon
the prisoner; prisoner, arise !"

But a tempest of cheers drowned the voice
of the clerk — everybody crowded round Lem
to shake hands, some of the jurymen jump-
ing from their benches to participate. The
court-room was nearly emptied as Lem,
leaning upon Bill Fussell, walked out, appa-
rently with some difficulty. The Sheriff
sent for the coroner and his own horse, the
former to sit upon Binkle, and the latter for
himself to sit upon as he took part in the
chase after the murderer. But a hero, who
had emerged from the clutch of the law, was
greater in the eyes of the public than either
a ilead counterfeiter or a live ruffian — so
most of the village followed Lem, or broke
into groups and talked about him.

CHAPTER XXIII.

IN WHICH THE HERO ESCAPES FROM THE
ROAD.

Lem and his counsel walked slowly down
the main street of the village. Storekeepers
and their customers hurried out of stores to
shake hands with Lem and congratulate him.
To every one Lem said " Thank yon," but he
did not seem to be as greatly elated as a man
who had barely escaped State prison should
be. As the couple passed along a stretch of
board fence from behind which no smiling
friends approached, the young lawyer said:

' ' Cheer up, cheer up, little chap — you act
as if I was the Sheriff. What's the matter?"

Lem groaned. "Oh, lots of things," he
said. " I haven't got any money to give you
for one thing. "

" Wipe that out, then," said the lawyer.
" I'd have given you a fifty, as poor as I am,

for th
how tl
nu; nil
your
I've e
mind '
"T
worl
me tc
if I'd
Th*
alniosj
eycri
him.

TilK .iKUlClIU KOAIJ.

irkum.
[e, isn't
p'ussell,

," said
-'ciition

jtorney,

great

I of the

fd Bill

I of the

for tlio chaiict! of dofcinliii^ you if IM Uuowii
how tlio ca.so was yoiiiL^ to turn out. It'll do
mo niort! good on tlio ciriniit to liavo Ixmmi
your couusol in fliia casi; than all tlio work
I'vo over done before. What else is on your
mind ?"

" 'Die ol<l thin;,'," aiyliod Leiii. " Out of
work again. Kvuryhody's maUin' a fuss over
me to-(hiy, but you'd sou liow tlioy'd Hcattor
if I'd ask any of 'oiu for a jol)."

Tlio lawyer looked down coinpassionately,
almost disdaiufully,at tlie pinoliod face, glassy
eyes and bent back of the ligure beside
him.

*' Look here, Lem," said he, "you're no
more tit to work than a tom-cat is to take
hold of au e(£uity case. 7V/«^'a the reason
people don't hire y(m. "

" I am, too," declared Lem, growing
straighter and fuller in the face, and brighter-
eyed for a moment. " Or I was," said he,
catching his breath and dropping back into
his old stoop again.

" You were.before that infernal old Squire
took you up and worked you out," said Bill
Fussell. " It's an infernal shame that a
chifrch member like he is, with plenty of
money, should work the life and soul right
out of a man. I've been blazing mad about
it a hundred times. "

"Nobody prevented him," said Lem.

The young lawyer's complexion deepened
from its hal)itual carmine to a hue almost
purple. " Yes," said he, " and 1 was one of
the people that kept their mouths shut.
What's everybody's business is nobody's
business. I'm going right across the street
and have it out with the old scoundrel — and
myself. "

" Don't please, don't," said Lem,clutching
the lawyer's arm tightly. " Help me down
to Myvy's, where I used to stay. I can
never get there alone."

" Why, what do you wan't to go to that
dirty hole for ?" asked the lawyer.

•• They think enough of me to trust me for
my board," said Lem — "nobody else does."

" But you'll have to live like a hog there,"
said the lawyer, " and you need to be taken
care of. Myvy's a drunken beast, and his
wife's the dirtiest looking woman in town;
they never have anything unless they steal
it I guess."

" They were always kind to me," said
Lem; " nobody else was, even if they stole
what they had."

"Go back to Ben Ringsell's," said the young
lawyer, turning purple again ; " I'll pay
your board for a month, and I'll tind you
something to do — somebody's got to give
you a job."

The couple had just passed the post-office,
■when out rushed the postmaster. " Hur-

rah for you. li'Mii I" said ho. " (ilail to see
you out. Hero's a loUor for you."

" From mother I" said Loin, lonking two
or tliroo years younger vory suddoniy. "No,
it ain't," ho contimiod. his countcnaiico fall-
iii't. " Who else wants to send me a let-
ter .'

" Maybe you could tind out by breaking it
open," suggostod the lawyer.

Loin aot»Ml upon the advice of his counsel,
and took from the enveh)[)o two titty-dollar
notes anda scrap torn from a newspaper mar-
gin; upon this latter was scrawled, in pen-
cil, tiie fcdluwiiig message :

•* fRum a nutlier ev old Itinkuls korpsiZ.
tak kare oV yewwer muthar. datum binkul
keep a Stif uper lip. moar a kummen. "

Lem's face was blankness itself as he hand-
ed the letter to the lawyer.

" No signature," said Bill Fussell.
" What's the postmark"? — New Philadelphia,
eh ? Hello, this envelope's been turned ?
perhaps the in le will throw some light on
the subject." The lawyer tore open the
ends of the envelope, and read, from the in-
side of the back : "Thomas Lodge; what
jjolt-otfice is this ? he isaddre.Msed — "

Lem snatched the envelope, tore it into a
thousand pieces, threw it into the mud
and trampled upon it. Bill Fussell looked
surprised, and said:

" Why, don't you want to know where
your friends hang out their shingles ?"

" No," said Lem, " I don't want to do
nothin' but get into a bed somewhere. I
can't hardly stand up. Can't you — get one
of these changed, so I can send ninety dol-
lars to my mother — right away, I'll keep
ten — I feel as if I was going to be reel sick.

"I'll send it for you," said Fussell ; "come
along to Ben Ringsell's now."

They started ; the lawyer became con-
scious that Lem leaned heavier and heavier
upon his arm. Suddenly Lem's grasp relaxed
and he f«ll upon the pavement in front of
Squire Barkum's store. The lawyer placed
his new hat under Lem's head, dashed across
the street to the hotel, snatched the brandy
bottle (whose location he well knew) from
before the eyes of the astonished proprietor,
and hurried back. Several men appeared
suddenly, apparently from nowhere, and
from his own front door, behind which he
had been watching Lem's approach, and com-
posing a speech congratulatory, conciliatory
and scriptual, appeared tne Squire himself.

Dr. Beers, who happened just in the nick
of time to be riding by, jumped from his
carriage, the Squire s pastor emerged from
the post-office door followed by the post-
master, while the circuit Judge, who had
been compelled to adjourn court because

/•

THE JKRICHO KOAI).

f^-.

of th« excitement in the room, came down
the afreet at a most unjudicial pace.

" Stand hack, everybody !" exclaimed the
doctor. " Air is what he needR."

For two or three minutes there was utter
silence ; the doctor knelt with his fin^'ers on
Lem's pulse, and at last whispered :

" You can't last much longer, Lem."

" T know it," said Lem; " 1 want to he
prayed for."

In an instant good S(|uire Barkum was
upon his kn?es on the hrick ))avcmont. He
had got as far as " Almighty (iod, we thine
unworthy — "when the dying man said in a
very thin voice, but yet with considerable
energy :

"(Jet up— I don't want ijimr prayers — I
want some ijnud person's."

The Squire's clasped lianda fell from the
devotional i)ose. his eye-brows raised, and
his lower jaw dropped.

"Cetui),"rei>eated Lem. "1 don't want
anytliing from anybody tliafll linteii to you.
Oh, (;o.l ! I'm killed!"

Again the Squire dropjied cm his knees,
perhi',])s with some desire to change the sub-
ject ('f his late convcisation. •

"Who killed you ?" asked the old man.

Lem slowly and with great difficulty raised
himself (m one elbow, Hxtd his eyes on the
Squire, and exclaimed :

"VOU !"

The Squire slowly got upon his feet, fell
back, leaned against the front of his sto'
and gazed into the limbs of a tree on the
edge of the sidewalk. The doctor bent his
head close to Lem and said :

"You haven't got time to be particular,
Lem, but is there anybody you'd particular-
ly like to have pray for you ?"

"Yes," wliispered Lem, "Bill Hixton."

A murmur ran through the little crowd ;
somebody elbowed a way through the by-
standers and bent over Lem ; it was the
Sheriflf.

"Lem," said he. "you're dying. Bill Hix-
ton's a thief. You know something about
him. Don't go into the presence of God with
any concealed sin on your conscience. Bo
you know where Bill Hixton is ?"

"Yes."

"Where ?"

"Out of your reach," gasped Lem, with a
happy smile.

"Who else?" whispered the doctor, after
9, moment's pause.

"Send for Aunty Bates," whispered Lem.

"She's sick abed," said the doctor.

"Then little Billy Miles," gasped Lem.

"Oh mother !" — The sick man closed his

eyes and went into a court in which
there is no danger that the innocent will

suffer for the guilty, and in which turning
State's evidence will not save scoundrels.

CHAPTEH XXIV.

TWO COl I'l.KS OK rKNITKNTS.

The inhabitants of Mount Zion were not,
as a body.fiimiliar witli the course of all hu-
man history, or with the habits of the best
society, hut they had in them one of those
qualities of nature which nuike the world
akin and sliow that the ancient (Jreek and
the modern negro, the French aristocrat and
the New York rowdy, are men of the same
blood — they know how toheapu])ona corpse
the kind attentions which they had withheld
from its owner. Lem's funeral was tlie linest
one whit'h Mount Zioii had ever known. 'JMie
cotlin was aw sui)erl) a thing as the rival
cal)inet-makers at Mount Zion could turn
out between them ; tlie nails had real silver
heads, extemporized from tive-ceiit coins by
an ingenious inhabitant, and tlie pl;tto u|)oii
the lid made u]) in ornamental tlourii lies what
the ))aucity of information current alxiut
Lem's age, etc., caused to be lacking in the
length of the inscription. The inside was
trimmed witli line silk, and in considerable
taste, the most high-toned ladies in the town
contending with each other for a share in
the work. The best of the two hearses in
the town was newly varnished, the two cabi-
net makers combined their span of lio-ses,
and both gentlemen sat upon the driver's
box. Tlie court adjourned, by request of all
the members of the bar, and the .Judge rode
in the first buggy, with the Methodist
pastor, who had claimed the mournful
pleasure of officiating, on account of Lem's
jirobationary membei'ship in his chureh. In
the next conveyance rode, as chief mourn-
ers, little Billy Miles and Aunty Bates, who
had got out of bed for the purpose. Behind
them was a buggy in which sat the Sheriff
and Bill Fussell, each in a new shiny hat
and a solemn countenance. After these
came everybody in the county, in buggies,
farm waggons, on horseback and on foot ;
some horses carried two riders each, and in
an old stage-coach, looking as disreputable
and sad as themselves, rode the loafers from
Micham's rum-shop. The procession was so
long that it extended through the entire
length of the main street. After it had
tnrned out toward the little cemetery, how-
ever, a rapidly driven buggy containing the
Squire and Mrs. Barkum took a place in the
rear, and followed; then a couple of horse-
men, with very clean-shaven faces, short
hair, new and badly-fitting black clothes.

men,

THE JKRICHO IIOAD.

Inrning I gallopcil out of a side road and fell intu line
Ids. I behind tlio Squire's buggy.

"Marg'ret," said the Squire, "the sin of
hlood-guiltinesH is onto uh. "

"Squire," said Mrs. Barkuni, "I know it.
It's good we ain't livin' under the old dispen-
sation, where blood had to pay blood."

"We're worse off than that, Marg'ret,"
said the Sc^uire. "There's only one thing we
ran atone tor it with."

"What's that ?" anked the tearful lady.

" Money," groaned the Squire.

"That's ao, ' sighed his wife.

"Lodge, " Paid one of the snioothly-shavcd
men, "it's awful solemn. 1 wish I hadn't shot
Binkle. almost."

" Sh — h^-h !" whispered the other man.
I'll run any risk to follow that lioy to the
last of liim, but 1 <lon't want to l)e tlirowed
away. I wish 1 was in the heaise with
him."

" Don't be a fool," replied Hixton.

"You helped put him there ; you've got to
do lots for his ohl \/oman before )joii'll stand
a chance of layin' comfortalde in a
hearse."

"That's so," whispered tlie counterfeiter.

"Ma'-g'ret" said tlie S(juire, " we've got I
to .supiK)rt the family." !

" Let's," said Mrs. Barkum.

" Wevc got to eddicate the children,"
continued the Squire.

" 1 s'pose — we must," said Mrs. Barkum,
rubbing her eyes.

" If iiw was in that hearse. Mar—"

"Don't Squire — don't," exclaimed Mrs.
Barkum. " I ain't as strong as I used to
be."

" If we waw there, Marg'ret," repeated
the Squire, " our money'd go to the county,
und nobody knows who'd spend it. Let's
give it all to the Loid some way other while
we've got a chance."

"Anything, Squire," sobbed the old
lady.

" We've got to come to it some day," Baid
the counterfeiter to hia companion.

" For (iod's sake, don't talk about it,"
«aid the horse-thief.l

" I only wish we was as good and ready
as he was," said Lodge.

" We never will be — the miserable little
pinched-up, knocked-kneed cuss," said Hix-
ton.

"Let's swear oflfev'ry thing," suggested
Lodge.

"Agreed," said Hixton. "Shake hands
on it. The way the air feels I reckon there's
a witness mighty close at hand."

"So do I," said Lodge.

As the cortege reached the little cemetery,
it seemed there were not fences enough in
the neighbourhood to tie all the horses to,

and the interior of the cemetery appeared to
be a very lively corral. The grave had been
dug beside that of fiCm's father, and every-
body crowded as ncartoit as possible — every-
body but tlie Scjuire, his wife, the counter-
feiter, and the horse-thief. When the cere-
monies wereconduded and the people turned
to leave the grave, I^odge and Hixton gal-
loped off, as if to dodge the eye of jus-
tice, and the Sciuire drove away rapidly, ap-
parently with tlio same end in view.

CONCLUSION.

After the villagers had sufficiently discuM-
ed tlio circumstances of Lcm's Hnal disap-
pearance, it becanu' slowly evident tliat ■
change had taken place in Squire Barkum.
He was no less sharp in his bargains than
ever, but it was noticed that after he had
transacted his business with people who
might ]K)ssibly ])e in liuancial straits, he
drojjped his elbows on the counter, his liead
(m liis liands, an<l ])umpod them with great
])ersistcncy. Then it was noised abroad that
tlic S(iuiro had absolutely forced an excellent
assortment of groceries, and winter clothing
upon the widow Morrow, who had *i,r
several years been trying to nuiintain in com-
fort three children too small to work, and
had failed most ])itifully.

Then the village postmaster felt that he
violated no bond of secresy in saying that
every week the Squire received a letter, most
illegibly addressed, and postmarked with the
name of Lem's native village. It was also re-
marked by the Squire's competitors that
about once a week, and nearly every week,
the poor old man appeared at their stores in
quest of a ten-dollar bill on some eastern
bauk, and he objected strongly to using a
twenty.

One day a steamboat from Cincinnati
dropped in front of one of the Mount Zion
warehouses several heavy packages of Uixed
stone, not entirely concealed. Mount Zion
curiosity was aroused, and finally gratified
by the sight of a shapely monument over
Lem 's remains. Upon the four sides of the
square shaft were Bible passages, not exact-
ly innumerable, but extremely freijuent, and
all of them hinting at the salvation and coa-
sequent bliss of those who did what they could
and loved much.

Then people heard that the Squire's pastor
was very much exercised about the state of
his parishioner's mind. The old merchant
seemed first inclined to pick flaws in the
doctrine of vicarious atonement, and then to
substitute Lem Pankett for the sacred persoa

thp: jkricho road.

whose atoning merits he hr previously made
the excuse for all his own onia. The Squire,
too, had become ))i)sse.ssed of the idea that
he had oonunitted the unpardonable sin. The
clergyman combatted the notion, untd, dur-
ii^v an unexpected logical spasm, it struck
him that the Squire was ratj^r happier with
the idea of going to hell tffat he had pre-
Tiou&^y been with his hope of heaven ; so he
left the Squire in the enjoyment of his fears,
juid devoted his energies to the task of en-
couraging the old man to make the best pos-
■ible use of his remaining time aud large pro-
perty.

As for the remaining good people at Mount
/tiosi, some of them followed the Squire afar

off, and some of them made haste to be
blind and deaf, lest they should open their
hearts and pockets and be born again. The
results of Lem's death were as good as could
have been expocted, when one thinks of how
little, in comparison with their gigantic pos-
sibilities, the life and death of the Man of
Sorrows accomplished. But some men saw
that if the poor were not helped for God's
sake, they would be Satan's and that, in the
latter event, the church and society would
both have to sutfer, while no one reaped any
benefit. So, for the sake of their pockets,
some hard heads and harder hearts took
a share in the work which, for humanity's
sake only, they would never have touched.

THE END