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THE FLOWER" rni t EClIOI'i
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VOLUME XLII— NUMBER FORTY*SIX.
Jltlcinta, GaWeek Ending January 14, 1905.
50c PER YEAR—SINGLE COPY 5c,
By Will N Harben
j£?
jZ?
Jiuthor of
Abner Daniel ” “The
Substitute ** “Wester*
velt ” Etc.
i.
BXF.Tt DANIEL hitched his
bay mare to the rustic
horse ra.ck at the court
house 'gate and went into
the yard. Near the door of
lirl tV* the red brick jail the clerk
of court, a middle aged
man. sat playing check
ers with Jim Carden, a
■clioem ilker. diminutive in
size, but noted 'for his wit,
skepticism in religious
matters, and crude intelli
gence. His shop was in
the row of one-story brick buildings in
the street that led from the temple of
justice down to the long, brisk freight
depot, though he was seldom found
there, as he spent, half his time In the
count rr.
Abner was a farmer, tall. lank, tliln-
fa.red with .a tuft of gray beard, on his
chin and a constant twinkle of merri
ment in his eyes. He wore a dingy black
alpaca coat, for It was early summer
time, and he couldn’t bear the weight
of anything heavier, a pair of jean
trousers supported by home knitted sus-
■per. tors, and stout brogan shoes, never
firmly tied. He was chewing tobacco,
and as he took one of the vacant chairs
and tilted it back against a tree he spat
cn the grass slowly and deliberately,
his glance on the grimy, much-used
* he: ker board /
•"(’bar. crown that un„ dura yore lazy
hide, 'fore you overlook it!” cried the
shoemaker exult'ingly, as he stroked his
beardless chin with a blackened hand.
”Bf I don't wha.rk it to you this pop.
old "boss. I'll eat my hat.”
‘‘You’d hotter start a chawin', then,”
said the clerk, tersely, as he winked
knowingly at Daniel. A moment later
he threw himself hac k in his chair and
laughed heartily, for he had made throe
"jumps” and swept most of the remain
ing men from the board.
'•Try it ag’in," 'he said, with a broad
grin. “The truth is, I'm jest sorter git-
tin’ my hand in "
"Xo, my luck’s ■ag’in me,” replied Car
den. He was eying Daniel with a lazy
lock of interest. “Unde Ah," he said,
"they tell me old Si Warren has sent
for you—wants to talk to you nbout
some’n. That’s a compliment to a man
in yore standin'. Shorely the skunk
hain’t goin’ to turn state's evidence an’
•put yore neck In the loop instead o’
his’n?”
"Hardly that, Jim, I reckon,” Abner
smiled agreeably. “I radily can’t imag
ine what he wants, I used to know ’im
over on the river. lie owned a few
acres o’ land over thar before he started
down hill so bad. I was sorry to hear
he was condemned—the Lord knows livin’
these days Is tough enough without hav
in’ to die on the scaffold at a signal
from the sheriff without time to spit,
swallow, or scratch the bak o’ yore
nock.”
“The old chop certainly is git tin’ des
perate,” remarked the clerk. "It’s my
opinion he's at the end o' his row."
“Rope,” punned Carden, "but I’ll grant
you he’s altered. At the irtal he defied
all creation an' the God that made it,
cussed out court an’ jury, witnesses an'
hangman, an' said he only had one con
solation, an' that was he’d meet ’em ail
■In he.ll. But he's weak-kneed now; jail
feed an' a hard bed in a .steel cage in
■five foot o' the trap that's to dra.p a
feller into eternity will take the brag
■out o’ an’ man-kttler on earth.”
"I reckon that’s so,” said Daniel. "Did
anybody believe his statement that he
acted In self-defense?”
"Nobody but the fools that's been pray
in' for 'im an* trvin' to git his sentence
commuted to life imprisonment,” said
Carden, warmly. “Ef Jaw an’ order is
to lay in the hands o’ them sort. I’ll
move out amongst the Injuns an’ be
done with It. I'm here to tell you fel
lers that Si Warren Is a regular demon
in human hide. Didn’t the State show
he'd made three .attempts on human life
before, while on a drunk? Do you think
a scamp like that ought to be allowed to
fill up to the neck with rot-gut once a
week an' prowl round amongst luw-
abldln' citizens, seekln’ an excuse to
sata-h shoot somebody?"
’Tve always sorter admired the feller’s
dare-devil ways,” said the clerk, as he
put the checkers Into a cardboard box
and shook them into place. He laughed
out impulsively, and continued- "l re
member a few years hack that he raised
a. regular bedlam at the bush-arbor
mootin' below town. By the way, lie
claimed afterwards that the meet In’ folks
was the cause o’ his gittln’ on that
bender, anyway. Old Mrs. Tillman had
carried the wine thar fftr sacrlment. an’
when the time come to drink It somebody
up
on the end o’ the row o’ applicants said
it was too strong—it had a sorter head
on it. havin’ stood too long; so they tuck
the jugs back to -Mrs. Tillman's wagon,
an' sent for some more wine. Old War
ren was a-seitin' nigh at hand an’ seed
the whole proceedin'.*;. He said after
wards that hi/d gone thar .with the best
intentions an’ up to that particular min
ute was giftin' his share o' speritual
benefit out o' the singin’ an' carry in’ on;
but be said .when lie seed them thar jurs
toted out. into the. bushes an’ stuck in
that wagon lie backslid. He said he
tried his level best to keep his mind on
the prea-cbin', but his mouth was water
in' seen a rate that be felt more like be
was bein’ baptized than tryin’ to git
ready for it. Besides, ho said, as he
set thar he got to arguin’ the matter In
his mind; he lowed that, ef the wine
was a little too strong for them sanc
timonious folks, it mought be jest the
tiling fer a half-way convert like fie
was. so lm up an’ slunk out to Mrs.
Tillman's wagon. Ho said the stuff
was fur from the rale tiling in strength,
lint thar was plenty of it. an so he
made a day of it on the sly an’ when
he got through he was about the most
religious man in sight.”
"I remember that day,” said Abner
Daniel, with a. laugh; “It ended in a
awful big row."
••[ reckon it did.” said Garden. "I was
toar with my wife an’ children. It
mighty nigh busted up the meetin’. SI
come in the arbor an’ insisted on l.viii
down on the s..aw between the benches.
Some o' the members hustled 'im out
side. but he bunged up half a dozen
of 'em. They finally piled on im
tell vou couldn’t see head nor tail of
’im an’ kept im thar tell the marshal
come with three deputies. They drug
’Im out. as red as a beet an' half stran
gled an’ started to tie ’im with a rope.
1I< had sobered up considerable an’ stood
as straight as a ramrod, an' offered
go like a gentleman ef they jest
wouldn’t tie 'im like a wild animal; but
they wouldn’t resk it, an’ was gittln
the rope ready when Warren broke
aioose an' run like a scared rabbit
through the woods and across the fields.
They trieiT to follow 'im, hut they soon
give it up an’ come back to town the
wust-sold lot you ever seed. But what
you reckon?” Carden paused a moment
ana then finished: “When they got to
town, the barkeeper at the hotel told
'em that Warren had been in to git a
drink an' left word that he’d wait fer
'em at tile jail. They come on up here,
an' thar set the old .devil on the steps
o’ that, jail fannin’ liisse'f with his hat.
'I tola you I'd come Tike a gentleman,’
said lie, ’an' 1 did. The next time 1
•make you damn fools a proposition may-
lie you’ll listen to me!’ He was put in
jail an’ stood trial fer disorderly con
duct, an' worked out his fine on the
rock-pile.”
"A heap o' folks thinks he's not fuiiy
accountable,” remarked Abner Daniel,
seriously. "I may be no judge, but it
looks to me like ,.e’s stuck to whisky
so long that lie hardly knows the benefit
o‘ correct conduct.”
‘Tve heard that ho used to beat Ills
wile and daughter before they died,”
said Jim Carden. "They say lie whip
ped his daughter, an' she was a pretty,
bright girl, when she was past 15. A
feller that will do that, drunk or sober,
ort not to be pitied. That skunk is a
scab on the tail o' humanity—a disgrace
to this county. I don't care how soon
they hang ’im."
Three or four countrymen left their
white, canvas-covered wagons at the
gate, and entering tlie yard, they pass
ed into the court liouse to give their
taxes, and nods ana greetings were ex-
changed with the group under the trees.
Jim Carden reached for the plug of to
bacco Abner had taken from his pocket,
and with the corner of It between his
short, yellow teeth he twisted off a
prodigious chew.
"What's interested me more’n anything
else about the matter,” he mumbled, "is
tlie way the whole community is divided
over it. A body ud think, old Warren
was a nugget o' pure gold. Out at
Lickskillet the question o’ bangin’ 'im
or not has split tlie church wide open.
Some say it’s wrong to put ’im to death,
an’ the rest contend' he ort to have a
special law passed to have the job per
formed twice to make sure.
"They had a knock-down and drag-out
light over it t'other day. Bill Daskam
was standin' up fer law an’ order, an'
fer havin' speedy pustioe meted out.
when Joe Elks, on t'other side, up an'
axed ’im what, the gospel had to say
about that, an’ Bill fired up an’ told
Elks lie was a damn fool, an' that start
ed a row. The two fit. an’ clawed hair
an' eyeballs fer a good half-hour while
the elect an’ the non-elect clapped hands
an’ agged 'em on.”
‘'That's human nature,” Abner said,
with a laugh; “it does a heap o’ un
WILL N. HARBEN, AUTHOR “THE GEORGIANS.”
Mr. Harben is One of the South’s Conspicuous Representatives in Current
Literature. The Development of His Talent and Vogue Has Been Remark
able. For an Account of His Interesting Success, See the Editorial
Page of This Issue.
lawful things to uphold tlie law. I see
Barker coinin’ up the street; he went
to Mr. Hammond to ax fer my permit to
see the prisoner; it seems like a man's
lawyer has full charge of 'im after he's
condemned."
The young man approaching from the
direction of the business portion of tlie
town was the jailer. He smiled at Ab
ner and nodded.
“Hammond said let you in as often as
you wished,” was his announcement; "he
'lowed thar wasn’t any danger o’ you
totin' files or deadly p’ison to prisoners.
Are you ready to go in?”
“Just as soon do it now as later," Ab
ner said, and he rose and moved on with
the jailer.
At the outer door, of the prison Hie
two paused. "Say, Barker," said Ab
ner, "are .you going to let me right in
whar Warren is?"
“No. not exactly, Uncle Ab,” the jailer
answered. “You’ll have to talk to ’im
through the bars.”
“That's nigh enough,” smiled Daniel.
"He’s the one seekln’ the interview.
How’s he been sence he was put in?”
“The best prisoner I ever had under
my charge,” answered Barker. “He
hain’t done nothin’ in all the three
months but set on his cot with his head
down. He's fur from bein’ a well man.
Dr. Scott says lie’s got a whisky heart—
ef you know what that is—an’ he has
awful breathin' spells. 1 sleep . in the
reom right under 'im, an’ away in the
night when he’s at his wust I kin hear
'im bumpin' agin the iron gratin’ as he
rocks back an’ forth. His sort cayn’t
stand confinement.”
As he spoke the jailer swung the big
outer door open, but Daniel stood still,
another question on his lips.
"What do you think about his claim
that it was done in self-defense?” he
asked. "Do you think that was a
straight tale. Barker?”
"The Jury didn’t swallow It,” said the
jailer, and he smiled as he jangled the
bunch of long, slender keys in his hands.
“But, somehow. I believe It. Uncle Ab
ner. He tells that part of it as straight
as a die. But, you see. it didn’t do ’im
any good—he couldn’t git at Ills witness.
Some say he jest claimed that Abe Wil
son seed the shootin' beease he Snowed
Wilson had skipped out fer parts un
known—I don't know; but he don’t seem
to be lyin’ about that part of it. He’s
a strange sort of a feller; he was as
mean as hell to his wife when she was
The whole tiling was right whar ho
could see tile at work. Sn. to spare
h'is feelin’s, I hung a sheet over his
cage so he couldn't see what 1 wan
about, an - when [ was through I tuck
tlie cloth down an’ stopped to speak to
Im about some'n or other. He was sil
lin’ on his cot. with his head twixt his
hands, an’ didn’t look up. I spoke
ag’in. an’ still he wouldn't notice mo.
Then 1 up an’ axed him right out what
was the matter. Ho hung liis head a.
while: then he got. up an’ come to me
sorter half sulkin’, half l i vin'. He told
me he didn't think I’d treated 'im right.
He said he knowed well enough what
I was doin’ at the trap, an' that lie
thought it was mighty mean o’ me to
not let 'im see it. when it was so lonely
•in' dull up thar, with nothin' to pass
time Well, sir. it tuck my breath
away: hut 1 went back an’ showed 'tm all
about the trap, an’ he stood jest like
he. was listenin’ to a sermon or a lec
ture, an’ now an’ then axed me a <iu»--
tion about some p’int I’d overlooked.
An’ when I was done, all he said was
that it was a long time toil tin- fust
of August, an’ he wag much obliged
to me fer ray trouble. Blamed ef l
could .hardly eat my dinner that day.
Law an’ order means a lot, but some
how it looks like a pity to deliberately
wring a pore illiterate man’s neck like
a chicken's when he's as sorry as this
feller Is. Pm a Christian, Uncle Abner
—I try to do* right, an - sence I've had
Warren to guard an’ feed Poe thought
a sight about the way Jesus used to
ii. ars. Wl>h 'in, u was aiwaj ■>,
G a
alive. Her neighbors say she was as
good an’ puore a woman as ever breath
ed. an' yet he always nagged her about
bein’ unfaithful. When a man gits rale
bad, about the fust thing he does is to
suspect the purest thing God ever made
—a good woman, an’’ the vvuss he gito
the less he believes in her. - ’
“I’ve heard he was that way,” said
Daniel, “but 1 'lowed it was jest when
lie was drinkin’.”
“He wojs that way all the time, they
tell me,” answereq Barker; “but in spite
o’ all that lie's got some good p'ints.
Folks say lie don’t owe a dollar in the
v orld.”
“How did he take the death sentence?”
There was a wistful look in the old
farmer’s eyes as he glanced toward the
patch of young corn waving ill the sun
shine behind the jail.
“Don't seem to mind it any more'n ef
the judge was sayin’ good mornin’ to
’irn,” said Barker. "I had hola o’ his
arm when the solicitor read
the verdict. I didn't know
what notion mought strike a
feller as desperate as he'd been, but,
sir. I'm here to tell you that old SI
never quivered, nur so much as moved
an eyelash.”
“He’s got nerve,” said Abner, admir
ingly.
“Yes. plenty of it,” responded Barker,
but lie’s gettin* low-spcrited no**. My
wife goes up to his cell, now an' then,
an' tries to comfort ’im, but she says
he jest mopes an’ won't talk much
about anything. She hated 'im at
fust, beca’se lie lias sech a pore opinion
o’ women in general, but she’s over that
now; she’d save his life ef she could.
That is a funny thing about ’im; he’s
had so much Scripture .read to ’im sence
he was put in here that he’s tuck up
some strange notions o’ right and wrong.
He says’, fer instance, that, accordin’
to the Bible, it is jest as bad to want
to kill a man as to do the deed, an’
that while he really did shoot Buford
in self-defense, lie’s tried to kill several
others, an’ tlie law wouldn’t make a
big mistake in ha.ngin’ ’im in this in
stance.”
“That is peculiar,” said Daniel, sym
pathetically, “he certainly has go
nerve.”
"Nerve?” laughed the jailer—"I wonder
if you ever heard about— Well, when
he was sentenced to hang the fust of
August I had orders to inspect the trap,
oil the hinges, an’ test the rope, an’
see that everything was in good order.
the thief on the cross, fer instance. He
must ’a’ been a scrubby sort of citizen,
from all accounts, an’ yet the Lora Jes
us Christ, the Savior of the world,
locked arms with ’im an’ went with ’im
right into Paradise.”
Abner nodded thoughtfully. A bond
of sympathy seemed to bind him to
the speaker. . He laid his hand on
Barker’s arm.
“Maybe science an’ human progress
wiil altar all this In the time to come,”
he said. "The brainy men o’ the future
may find a. way to prove a man’s heart
an’ measure his reformation an’ regret,
as they do gold today, an’ when a man
has reached a state o’ genuine repen
tance he’ll be give another chance.
Maybe thar won’t be so much guess
work then, nor so many mistakes in
bangin’ the wrong man. I don’t know
how much truth thar is in it—thar’s
so many lies In print—but I was readin’
t'other day that they kin photograph
thought in waves, like. Jest think o'
seeln’ a man’s remorse standin* out on
the surface of a pane o’ glass like frost
on a clear morla* with ten thousand lit
tle feathery prongs a-p'intln' back to
every nook an’ cranny of his past life.”
Barker laughed sheepishly. "You are
gettin’ too deep fer me. Uncle Ab," he
said. "But with all hts evil ways SI
Warren has got a streak o’ good In ’Im.
He’s a great tobaeeo-chawer, an’ uses
up his allowance before he kin git more.
One day he heard that nigger Pete Iking,
who was In fer shootin* craps—Pete was
hoggin’ fer more tobacco, an' old “War
ren give ’im hip an’ went without—I seed
that mysc'f ”
They were now at the foot of the
stairs leading to the cells of the pris
oners overhead, and Barker paused. ‘‘Go
right on up. Uncle Ah.” lie said. "War
ren’s cage Is the fust on the left after
you git to the top.”
II.
Abner ascended the narrow, winding
stairs to the corridor above. Directly in
front of him, in open space .stood an
lion cage about six feet in width by
eight in length. At one end of the corri
dor was a window, a mere slit in the
thick outer wall, through which the
prisoner could look out upon the town
park, a private school for young ladies,
and one of the most pretentious churches
in the place, a building that boasted
of a tall, slated spire and a sweet-toned
bell.
As Daniel drew near, the man on the
lng eyes, and then he slowly came for-
low cot In the cage looked up with blear-
ward, and with his long-nailed fingers
clutched the bars he peered through in
quiringly.
"Oh, it’s you, neighbor.” he grunted,
"How do you come on?”
"Purty good, Warren, old man: how
l.s It with you?” said Abner.
The prisoner thrust his slender paw
through one of the iron squares and
let it hang down from a limp wrist.
The visitor took hold of the bloodless
fingers for an. instant and then let
them slide out of his grasp, Warren
was short, thin, and bowed, his hair was
gray and unkempt, his cheeks were
sunken, and there were dark, despondent
splotches under his eyes, which were all
the more noticeable in their contrast to
the prisoner’s unnatural paleness.
“Oh, I reckon I’m as well as the law
allows.” replied fhe man behind the bars.
Abner thrust the crook of his stout
walking stick into one of the squares
overhead and pulled down on it. "I
reckon thar hain’t no use sayin’. Si,” ho
began, awkwardly, "that I hate to see
vou in this plight, an’ r want to say that
ef thar's a thing—a single thing—that 1
kin—”
"Don't want nobody’s help nur nobody’s
pity, as .1 know of.” the prisoner broke
in. "I got myself in this fix. Daniel, with
my eyes open, an’ I don't want to saddle
no nart of it on to anybody else.”
He coughed violently for it moment,
his shaggy head 'bobbing up and down
between his tense arms, and after the at
tack had spent itself the visitor heard him
panting rapidly and making a low whoez-*
ing sound. ”1 don't git my breath as
free as I used to do,” he presently went
on, in a tone half apologetic. ”1 was
savin’ 1 didn't want a soul t:> be bothered
with the consequences o' my ■Iced, Ab
ner Daniel, an’ fin here to tell you that
I hain’t satisfied with ail the hubbub
folks is a-raisin' over me an' my crime.”
‘You say you hain’t. Si?” Abner
seemed, at a loss as to how to converse
With him on such a delicate' uqnc as in,
one tie plainly saw Brewing.
“No, 'I hain’t satisfied with all the dis
agreement an’ hard feelin’s of neighbor
agin neighbor as to whether 1 am or am
rot put out c’ the way as the law provides
in s‘Ch cases. That’s the toughest situa
tion I ever tried to stand up under, Daniel,
an’ I've had my share o’ ups an’ downs.
Ef a feller's done wrong—broke the law
an’ the like—agin the advice an’ example
o' tbg best citizetu. o’ his community,
why, he ort to suffer hisse’f. an' not
bring 'clown rows an* strife amongst law-
abidin' people—some cornin’ to the front,
by God. that he’s cussed an’ bemoaned
till his life, as low money-grabbers, an*
standin* up tor ’Im in public places, an’
strikin’ blows, an’ sendln’ up prayers in
meetin’, an’ makin' speeches. .My [>ord.
I can’t stand that!”
Aimer leaned more heavily on his stick;
his mild eyes met tlie glance of r.lio earn
est speaker through one of the squares o.
the crossed bav*»
"That's so.” he said; "that's so. but
me'n you can't make folks over, Si.
They'll be jest what God Intended ’em
to fcc in spite o' all we kin do, an’ an
emergency like this sorter burns the dry
leaves an’ trash oft'n feelin's that’s been
hid a long time. I’ve reflected consider
able over the sentiment for an* agin you,
an’ away down at the bottom o' both
sides—both sides, mind you—I've found
what looks to me like a diamond o’ the
fust water. Them that’s contendin’ - sc >
hot fer yore immediate—” Abner paused
to select a word—"yore immediate pun
ishment, them folks believes the law Is
a good thing, an' at the same time they
think o’ the—”
"The wife an’ children o’ the man I
killed,” the prisoner interpolated, his
eyes fixed stoically on Abner’s face.
“Yes, they are thinkin’ o’ them. Si. an
them that has wives an’ children an’ are
groanin’ under the responsibility of carin’
fer ’em properly, them folks Is a thinkin’
liow awful It would bo ef some man
under the Influence o’ liquor was to fake a
sudden, wild notion to—to—'*
"Yes, that’s fact," Warren admitted,
gloomily, and then he was silent, looking
past Daniel through the window.
"Then, Si, thar’s another set o’ folks
that holds that the law hain’t never been
properly enforced in this particular coun
ty. In all its history it hain’t had a
legal execution. That set holds that,
while thar’s been a dozen murders in
the county, all the guilty parties got. off
with light punishment through family in
fluence, money, or political pull, an’ they
say they hain't willin’ fer the—the refor
mation to begin on a man without money,
friends, or stability, an’ on a man who
never did any open harm when he was
plun\b at liisse’f. Them sort seem to be
the bone an’ sinew of the community.
They fust want law an’ order to be en
forced fair an’ square all round, ’fore
they begin to enforce it on the helpless.
An’, Si, 1 reckon I'm with ’em. A body
will naturally obey law more in a coun
try whar law Is respected. An' tlie slip
shod methods o’ runnin’ our courts may
be partly to blame fer yore trouble. I
don't pretend to know; anyways, amongst
all the racket over it, a body runs agin
a lot o' pity fer you—Godlike an’ Christ-
like pity fer the fallen.”
Again the prisoner lowered his head
between his arms. Abner could not see
his face. The clock In the cupola on
the court house struck It. Presently
Warren raised his head. A tingle of for
eign color had come into his sallow face;
his~eyes were full, his lips twitching.
“I hain’t wuth It.,” he said, huskily; "I
tell you, neighbor I hain’t wuth it. God
never made as sorry a piece o’ work as
He did when He cut me out an' sewed me
together. I tell you I hain’t wuth it.”
“Let other folks be the judge as to
that,” Abner replied. He took out his
CONTINUED ON PAGE FOUR.