So Ed played cook and camp guard all through the days and was excused from all night duty.
In the meantime there was no more trouble from the mountaineers, except that the wounded one in camp continually bewailed his fate and indulged in dismal forebodings of the long term he must serve in prison. Finally one Sunday, when his wounds were nearly well again, he said:
"It ain't so much for myself I care. I kin stand purty nigh anything. What I'm thinkin' about, boys, is my wife an' my little gal. You see my wife she's consumptive like an' not much fit fer work, an' my little gal, she's only six year old. So I don't know what's to become of 'em when I'm sent up, an' that'll be mighty soon now, as I'm gettin' well enough to walk."
"Now listen to me a minute," said Tom in a voice as stern as he could make it with the tears that were in it—for the picture presented to his mind of that poor invalid wife and still more of that little six year old girl left to struggle with that mountain poverty and starvation which he knew something about, had touched all that was tender in his nature.
"Now listen to me! I'm going to have a plain talk with you. The only reason you are to go to prison is that you tried your best to kill Ed. Why didn't you think of your wife and little girl before you committed that crime? Answer me honestly now!"
"Well, I will, Tom. You see I ain't much account. I ain't enough account to own a little share in one o' the stills that does a purty poor business up here in the mountings. So I has to live on odd jobs like, an' at best I barely manage to keep a little bread and meat in the mouths of my wife an' little gal an' a calico dress on their backs. No, that ain't edzacly the truth nother, an' as you an' me is talkin' fair an' square now, I don't want to misrepresent nothin'. I'll own up that oncet—just oncet I bought the little gal a doll down there in town, jest becase she seemed so lonely an' longin' like as she looked at it. It cost me five cents."
By this time all the boys had business with their handkerchiefs, which they felt it necessary to go out of doors to attend to.
After awhile Tom mastered himself sufficiently to say:
"Go on! Tell us why you shot Ed?"
"Well, as I wuz a tellin' you," resumed the mountaineer, "I ain't no account an' so I has to live by odd jobs. Well, when you fellers come up here, the other fellers made up their minds that you must go back, an' so they decided like to have you persecuted till you did go. So, as they didn't want to take the risk of the job theirselves, they come to me an' another feller—that feller what got his arm broke in your camp—"