“That will not help me. My cousin was wounded also, but his was only a flesh wound from which he quickly recovered and of which he thought nothing. I doubt if any 446 one here in Leauvite ever heard of it, but it’s the irony of fate that he was more badly scarred by it than I. He was struck by a spent bullet that tore the flesh only, while the one that hit me went cleanly to the bone, and splintered it. Mine laid me up for a year before I could even walk with crutches, while he was back at his post in a week.”
“And both wounds were in the same place––on the same side, for instance?”
“On the same side, yes; but his was lower down. Mine entered the hip here, while he was struck about here.” Harry indicated the places with a touch of his finger. “I think it would be best to say nothing about the scars, unless forced to do so, for I walk as well now as I ever did, and that will be against me.”
“That’s a pity, now, isn’t it? Suppose you try to get back a little of the old limp.”
Harry laughed. “No, I’ll walk straight. Besides they’ve seen me on the street, and even in my father’s bank.”
“Too bad, too bad. Why did you do it?”
“How could I guess there would be such an impossible development? Until I saw Miss Ballard here in this cell I thought my cousin dead. Why, my reason for coming here was to confess my crime, but they won’t give me the chance. They arrest me first of all for killing myself. Now that I know my cousin lives I don’t seem to care what happens to me, except for––others.”
“But man! You must put up a fight. Suppose your cousin is no longer living; you don’t want to spend the rest of your life in the penitentiary because he can’t be found.”
“I see. If he is living, this whole trial is a farce, and if he is not, it’s a tragedy.”