"If not me, some one else," Mr. Lincoln answered; "for if you would rob and, if need be, murder a stranger, you would not long respect a friend; but men like you have no friends."
"No, nor deserve any, and I wish you had killed me; I would like to have died that way," the robber answered, averting his face and rising to his feet.
"I only sought to cripple your arm, as your torn sleeve shows," Mr. Lincoln answered, looking him over.
"That was like you, but I did not deserve it, nor was it a mercy to me."
"No, but I do not wish your blood on my hands. You are not to die that way, but by the hangman, Fox," Mr. Lincoln answered, soberly.
"No, no, not that!" the other cried. "I am not so bad as to deserve such a death, for I have never killed any one, and did not intend injury to you, though you will not believe it, and ought not to."
"It is not likely; but tell me how long you have been following this kind of a life," Mr. Lincoln asked, after a pause.
"I have not followed it at all, or only since yesterday."
"You are not telling the truth; but how could you take to the road again after the promises you made me?" Mr. Lincoln inquired, with a mournful cadence in his voice.
"Oh! you think I have always been a highwayman, and lied to you?" Fox cried out at this in a pitiful way.