He was covered by two big revolvers now, which argument had no whit of power to modify his mood; but another factor had. The Widow who had entered in search of Jim and knew the tragedy that hung by a hair, sped to his side: "Now, Bill, don't ye do it! I forbid ye to do it!"
"If they try to put them on me, I'll kill or be killed. If they jist act dacent, I'll go quiet."
"Will ye give yer word, Bill?"
"I will, Kitty; I'll give me word as a mahn. I'll go peaceable if they don't try to handcuff me."
"There," said Kitty to the officers. "He's give his word; and if you're wise, ye'll take him at that."
"All right," said the chief constable, and between them William moved to the door.
"Say, Bill, ye ain't going to be took?" piped little Jim. He had watched the scene dumbfounded from his place on the table. This was too much.
"Yes," said Bill, "I've give me word as a mahn," and he marched away, while the Widow fled sobbing to her room.
That was the end of Kenna, so far as Jim was concerned. And, somehow, that last sentence, "I've give me word as a mahn," kept ringing in Jim's ears; it helped to offset the brutalizing effect of many other episodes—that Fighting Bill should scoff at bonds and force, but be bound and helpless by the little sound that issued from his own lips.
Bill's after life was brief. He was condemned to a year in jail for deadly assault and served the term and came again to Petersburg. There in a bar-room he encountered Hall, the pal of Whisky Mason. A savage word from Bill provoked the sneer, "You jail bird." Kenna sprang to avenge the insult. Hall escaped behind the bar. Bill still pursued. Then Hall drew a pistol and shot him dead; and, as the Courts held later, shot justly, for a man may defend his life.