"Sandersen and Denver Jim, bring the prisoner before me."
They obeyed. But when they reached down their hands to Gaspar's shoulders to drag him to his feet, he avoided them with a shudder and of his own free will rose and walked between them.
"John Irving Gaspar," said Sinclair sternly, "alias Jig, alias Cold Feet—which is a fitting and proper name for you—have you got anything to say that won't take too long before I pronounce sentence on you?"
He had to set his teeth. The sad eyes of John Gaspar had risen from the ground and fixed steadily, darkly upon the eyes of his judge. There was infinite understanding, infinite patience in that look, the patience of the weak man, schooled in enduring buffets. For the moment Sinclair almost felt that the man was pitying him!
"I have only a little to say," said John Gaspar.
"Speak up then. Who d'you want to give the messages to?"
"To no living man," said John Gaspar.
"All right then, Gaspar. Blaze away with the talk, but make it short."
John Gaspar raised his head until he was looking through the stalwart branches of the cottonwood tree, into the haze of light above.
"Our Father in Heaven," said John Gaspar, "forgive them as I forgive them!"