'An' why me, more'n the t'others?' demanded the blacksmith.
'Yer heart air ez hard ez your anvil, Gid Fletcher,' said the mind-reader. 'Thar ain't another man on the Big Smoky ez would stir himself ter gin over ter the gallus or the pen'tiary the frien' ez trested him, who hev done no harm, but hev got tangled in a twist of a unjest law. Ef the law tuk him, that's a differ.'
''Tain't fur we-uns ter jedge o' the law!' exclaimed Gid Fletcher, his logic sharpened by the anxiety of his greed and his prideful self-esteem. 'Let the law jedge o' his crime.'
'Jes' so; let the law take him, an' let the law try him. The law is ekal ter it. Ef the sheriff summons me with his posse, I'll hunt Rick Tyler through all the Big Smoky——'
'Look-a-hyar, Hi Kelsey, the Gov'nor o' Tennessee hev offered a reward o' two hundred dollars——'
'Blood-money,' interpolated the parson.
'Ye kin call it so, ef so minded; but ef it war right fur the Guv'nor ter offer it, it air right fur me ter yearn it.'
He had come very close. It was his nature and his habit to brook no resistance. He subdued the hard metals upon his anvil. His hammer disciplined the iron. The fire wrought his will. His instinct was to forge this man's opinion into the likeness of his own. His conviction was the moral swage that must shape the belief of others.
'It air lawful fur me ter yearn it,' he repeated.
'Lawful!' exclaimed the parson, with a tense, jeering laugh. 'Judas war a law-abidin' citizen. He mos' lawfully betrayed his Frien' ter the law. Them thirty pieces o' silver! Sech currency ain't out o' circulation yit!'