"He's sorry for all his deviltry, Lord—"
"An' I ain't got nothin' agin the Judge," continued the sufferer.
"An' he don't bear no malice agin the Judge, which he shouldn't, seein' he generally gin as good as he took. An' the long an' short of it, Lord, is jest this—he's a dyin', an' he wants a chance to die with his mind easy, an' nobody else can make it so, so we leave the whole job in your hands, only puttin' in, fur Billy's comfort, thet we recollect hearing how yer forgiv' a dyin' thief, an' thet it ain't likely yer a-goin' to be harder on a chap thet's alwas paid fur what he got. Thet's the whole story. Amen."
Billy's hand, rapidly growing cold, reached for that of Mose, and he said, with considerable effort:
"Mose, yer came in ez handy as a nugget in a gone-up claim. God bless yer, Mose. I feel better inside. Ef I get through the clouds, an' hev a livin' chance to say a word to them as is the chiefs dar, thet word'll be fur you, Mose. God bless yer, Mose, an' ef my blessin's no account, it can't cuss yer, ennyhow. This claim's washed out, fellers, an' here goes the last shovelful, to see ef ther's enny gold in it er not."
And Billy departed this life, and the boys drank to the repose of his soul.
THE NEW SHERIFF OF BUNKER COUNTY.
He suited the natives exactly. What they would have done had he not been available, they shuddered to contemplate. The county was so new a one that but three men had occupied the sheriff's office before Charley Mansell was elected. Of the three, the first had not collected taxes with proper vigor; the second was so steadily drunk that aggrieved farmers had to take the law in their own hands regarding horse-thieves; the third was, while a terrible man on the chase or in a fight, so good-natured and lazy at other times, that the county came to be overrun with rascals. But Charley Mansell fulfilled every duty of his office with promptness and thoroughness. He was not very well known, to be sure, but neither was any one else among the four or five thousand inhabitants of the new county. He had arrived about a year before election-day, and established himself as repairer of clocks and watches—an occupation which was so unprofitable at Bunkerville, the county town, that Charley had an immense amount of leisure time at his disposal. He never hung about the stores or liquor-shop after dark; he never told doubtful stories, or displayed unusual ability with cards; neither did he, on the other hand, identify himself with either of the Bunkerville churches, and yet every one liked him. Perhaps it was because, although short, he was straight and plump, whereas the other inhabitants were thin and bent from many discouraging tussles with ague; perhaps it was because he was always the first to see the actual merits and demerits of any subject of conversation; perhaps it was because he was more eloquent in defense of what he believed to be right than the village pastors were in defense of the holy truths to which they were committed; perhaps it was because he argued Squire Backett out of foreclosing a mortgage on the Widow Worth when every one else feared to approach the squire on the subject; but, no matter what the reason was, Charley Mansell became every one's favorite, and gave no one an excuse to call him enemy. He took no interest in politics, but one day when a brutal ruffian, who had assaulted a lame native, escaped because the easy-going sheriff was too slow in pursuing, Charley was heard to exclaim, "Oh, if I were sheriff!" The man who heard him was both impressionable and practical. He said that Charley's face, when he made that remark, looked like Christ's might have looked when he was angry, but the hearer also remembered that the sheriff-incumbent's term of office had nearly expired, and he quietly gathered a few leading spirits of each political party, with the result that Charley was nominated and elected on a "fusion" ticket. When elected, Charley properly declined, on the ground that he could not file security bonds; but, within half an hour of the time the county clerk received the letter of declination, at least a dozen of the most solid citizens of the county waited upon the sheriff-elect and volunteered to go upon his bond, so Charley became sheriff in spite of himself.
And he acquitted himself nobly. He arrested a murderer the very day after his sureties were accepted, and although Charley was by far the smaller and paler of the two, the murderer submitted tamely, and dared not look into Charley's eye. Instead of scolding the delinquent tax-payers, the new sheriff sympathized with them, and the county treasury filled rapidly. The self-appointed "regulators" caught a horse-thief a week or two after Charley's installment into office, and were about to quietly hang him, after the time-honored custom of Western regulators, when Charley dashed into the crowd, pointed his pistol at the head of Deacon Bent, the leader of the enraged citizens, remarked that all sorts of murder were contrary to the law he had sworn to maintain, and then led the thief off to jail. The regulators were speechless with indignation for the space of five minutes—then they hurried to the jail; and when Charley Mansell, with pale face but set teeth, again presented his pistol, they astonished him with three roaring cheers, after which each man congratulated him on his courage.