“Well, I don’t know,” said Morgan, twisting his head argumentatively, as if to imply that there was more behind his villainy than the judge supposed, “but I thought when a feller got to foolin’ with another man’s wife––”
“Oh, pshaw!” cut in the judge. “You’re thinking of it as it should be, not as it is. The thing that you’re guilty of, let me tell you for your future guidance and peace, is only a misdemeanor in this state, not a felony. In a case like this it ought to be a capital offense. You’ve shown that there’s something in you by coming back to take your medicine, as you say, and voice or no voice, Morgan, I’m going to give you credit for that.”
“If the devil ever rode a man!” said Morgan.
“No, it was far from that,” reproved the judge.
“It got me goin’, Judge,” said Morgan, scaring up a little jerky laugh, “and it got me goin’ right! It stuck to me till I got on that train and headed for this town, and I’ll hear the ring of it in my ear to my last–what’s that?”
Morgan started to his feet, pale and shaking.
“It was the wind,” said the judge.
“Well, I’m here, anyhow, and I came fast as I could,” said Morgan, appealingly. “Do you think it’ll stick to me, and keep it up?”
“Why should it?” said the judge. “You’ve done your duty, even though whipped to it.”
“If the devil ever whipped a man!” breathed Morgan, “I’m that man.”