Orpheus and his lute, David and his harp, Donnelley and his dog! These are inseparable associations, and so fine and historic an animal is "Brownie" that the newspapers devote write-ups to him just as if he were a regular celebrity or something like that. He is now guarding the chicks on a ranch and is making a dandy truant officer, so the Captain tells me.
The Captain is a thinker, too. A short time ago he wrote a series of articles for the Reno Gazette, dealing with psychology. I was particularly impressed with a fact which he made to stand out clearly above all others and which would vitally affect society as a whole if it were to be universally carried out. It is the substitution of an indeterminate sentence for the definite one which now prevails. "No judge can determine in advance when a prisoner is fit to return to the community," he says; and in the same way we release the inmates of an insane hospital as soon as we think them sufficiently recovered, he believes we should release the criminal as soon as experts pronounce him fit to resume his relations with society.
The following is a copy of the verses which the Captain thought would help his co-workers to do things right:
"Did you tackle the trouble that came your way
With a resolute heart and cheerful,
Or hide your face from the light of day
With a craven heart and fearful?
Oh, a trouble's a ton, or a trouble's an ounce,
Or a trouble is what you make it;
And it isn't the fact that you're hurt that counts,
But only how did you take it.
"You're beaten to earth; well, well, what's that?
Come up with a smiling face,
It's nothing against you to fall down flat,
But to lie there-that's disgrace.
The harder you're thrown, why the higher you bounce;
Be proud of your blackened eye.
It isn't the fact that you're licked that counts,
It's how did you fight, and why.
"And though you be done to death, what then?
If you battled the best you could;
If you've played your part in the world of men,
Why, the critic will call it good.
Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce,
And whether he's slow or spry,
It isn't the fact that you're dead that counts,
But only, how did you die?"
And now we come to a pure Sagebrush Son who first announced himself into the family midst only a few miles away from Virginia City, Judge Langdon. His father had been a true pioneer of the Comstock Lodge, and so Frank was born with a "golden" spoon in his mouth.
However that may be, he went to school at Gold Hill, thence to St. Mary's College and finally passed the bar examination in 1886. Then he came back to Nevada, post haste, and established a law office in Virginia City and there he is to this day. Not for long, however, did he remain a private practitioner. He soon became a member of the Assembly, and District Attorney of his home County and subsequently was elected Judge of the County of Storey. And thereby hangs a "story."
While the Judge was on the bench a felonious murder was committed. Preston and Smith were the criminals arraigned before the courts, and Frank P. Langdon their Judge. Originally the trial had come up in Hawthorne, Seat of Esmeralda County, and when in the midst of the case the County Seat was changed the case was naturally transferred. Feeling ran very high, for the prisoners had many friends, and several anonymous letters, bearing a fear-inspiring skull and cross-bones sketched in blood-red ink, did the young Judge handle: needless to say without any fear or trepidation! A son of the sagebrush knows no fear!
At last the day for the final decision came. Some of those I have met who were present in the court room tell me that the atmosphere was highly charged and that many expected to see the Judge get a rough deal. But calmly, in clear ringing tones, he boldly stated his convictions, irrespective of the direst results that might follow; yet nothing happened. The men were condemned and the Judge is still residing in Virginia City, happy with his wife and six lively children.