“He's comin' round, Mr. Morris,” said Doty, who knelt on the other side of the sheriff; “an' he didn't bear no malice against you—don't fret; but it's a good thing I jerked that axe outer yo' hand! See, he's ketchin' his breath; it's all right,” as Partin opened his eyes slowly and looked about him.
A sound like a sigh came from the crowd, then a voice said, “Here comes Judge More.”
Morris was still holding his wet handkerchief on the sheriff's head when the old judge came in.
“My dear boy!” he said, laying his hand on John Morris's shoulder. But Morris shook his head.
“Let's talk business, Judge More,” he said, “and let's get Partin into a chair where he can rest; I've just knocked him over.”
Then Morris left the room, and Mitchell with him, going to the far side of the jail-yard, where they walked up and down in silence. It was not long before Judge More and the sheriff joined them.
“The evidence was too slight for lynching,” the judge said, looking straight into John Morris's eyes.
“Great God!” Morris cried, and struck his hands together.
“What more do you want?” Mitchell demanded, angrily. “His wife has disappeared, and the negro ran away.”
“True, and I'll see to the case myself; but I'm glad that you did not hang the negro.”