Amos rose rather hastily. “Well, I guess I got to go now, Sol.”
THE FAREWELL
Ruth noticed that Sol got the sheriff’s big hand in both his as he said, “I guess you know how I feel ’bout what you and Mr. Raker—” This time he could not go on, his mouth twitched, and he brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. Ruth saw that the palm had a great white welt on it, and that the sinews were stiffened, preventing the fingers from opening wide. She spoke then. She held out her own hand.
“I know you didn’t do it,” said she, very deliberately; “and I’m sure we shall get you free again. Don’t stop hoping! Don’t you stop one minute!”
“I guess I can’t say anything better than that,” said Amos. In this fashion they got away.
Amos did not part his lips until they were back in his own parlor, where he spoke. “Did you notice his hand?”
Ruth had noticed it.
“A man who saw the accident that gave him those scars told me about it. It happened two years ago. Sol had his spell at the roll, and he was strolling about, and happened to fetch up at the finishing shears, where a boy was straightening the red-hot iron bars. I don’t know exactly how it happened; some way the iron caught on a joint of the bed-plates and jumped at him, red-hot. He didn’t get out of the way quick enough. It went right through his leg and curved up, and down he dropped with the iron in him. Near the femoral artery, they said, too; and it would have burned the walls of the artery down, and he would have bled to death in a flash. Sol Joscelyn saw him. He looked round for something to take hold of that iron with that was smoking and charring, but there wasn’t anything—the boy’s tongs had gone between the rails when he fell. So he—he took his hands and pulled the red-hot thing out! That’s how both his hands are scarred.”
“Oh, the poor fellow!” said Ruth; “and think of him here!”