Olaf hadn’t wasted much of his time on Badger. He wasn’t long on forgiveness, Olaf wasn’t; an’ ever since the time ’at Badger had been so enthusiastic in tryin’ to have him lynched for killin’ Bud Fisher, Olaf had give it out as his opinion that Badger was doomed for hell, an’ he wasn’t disposed to take any hand in postponin’ his departure. Olaf was the matter-o’-factest feller I ever knew. The’ don’t seem to be much harm in most of our cussin’, but when Olaf indulged in profanity, he was solemn an’ earnest, the same as if he was sayin’ a prayer backwards.
“It don’t look like Badger’s flame,” sez he after a time. “It’s gettin’ mighty weak an’ blue, an’ the’s a thick spot over his heart which shows plainer ’n the one over his wound.”
“I move we give him a fresh start,” sez Horace.
“He’d ort to be lynched,” sez Tank. “I don’t see why we can’t try him out now, an’ if we find him guilty, why he can kill himself if he wants to, or else get well again an’ we’ll do it for him.”
Neither what Horace said nor what Tank said called out much response. We knew the’ wasn’t any one could say a good word for Badger-face an’ so he well deserved his stretchin’; but on the other hand, there he was turnin’ gray before our eyes, an’ it went again’ our nature to discard him, after havin’ hung on to him for two weeks. The Friar left the side of the bed an’ retired into a corner, leavin’ us free to express ourselves.
“I don’t see how we can let him go free,” sez Tank. “He sez himself ’at he ort to be lynched; an’ when a feller can’t speak a good word for himself, I don’t see who can.”
“Badger-face,” sez Horace, “you’re the darnedest bother of a man I ever saw. First you infest us until we have to shoot a hole through you, an’ then we have to nurse you for two weeks, an’ now you’re diggin’ your heels into our consciences. I give you my word we won’t lynch you if you get well. We’ll turn you over to the law.”
Badger’s thin lips fell back over his yellow teeth in the ghastliest grin a live man ever hung out. “The law,” sez he with bitter sarcasm, “the law! Have you ever been in a penitentiary?”
“No,” sez Horace, “I have not.”
“Well, I have,” sez Badger. “I was put in for another feller’s deed; an’ they gave me the solitary, the jacket, the bull-rings, the water-cure, and if you’ll roll me over after I’m dead, you can still see the scars of the whip on my back. I’ve tried the law, an’ I’ll see you all damned before I try it again.”