"I don't know. Hang him, I suppose."
"Don't talk nonsense, Lem. What's the matter with you? Wake up. Didn't you hear what the judge said about his receiving an important communication that had a decided bearing, and all that?"
"Did he?"
"Yes, 'a decided bearing upon the interests of justice in this case.' Those were his very words; and he held up a letter."
"Then it's all right now, Ruth! All right at last! He has come! He has come!"
"Who has come?"
"The man who will save Dorn Hackett."
XXIII.
TURNING OF THE TIDE.
It seems a little strange to some people that a prosecuting attorney should so hungrily devote himself to the conviction of an accused person, even when, as is sometimes beyond question, he feels in his heart that the individual against whom he is exerting all the force of his trained legal ingenuity, eloquence, and mental power is, in fact, guiltless of the crime alleged against him. If his gains depended upon his success in obtaining a conviction, many who are accustomed to look upon pecuniary interest as a sufficient excuse for almost anything not absolutely prohibited by law, would understand him better. But such is not the case. His salary is the same, whether he succeeds in hanging a guiltless unfortunate or not. Success, in many cases, may help him to re-election: but that is not always a serious consideration. Why, then, when he cannot convict by clear proof of guilt, does he call to his aid the technicalities of law, the power of precedent, and all that may enable him to even prevent the prisoner accomplishing that herculean task—the proving of his innocence? Simply because of the development in him—and the conscious possession of the widest license in its exercise—of the hunting instinct that is inherent in all carnivorous animals, man included. He hunts the accused down to death, with not even the cannibal's excuse of wishing to eat him, but that he may have the joy of triumph in the achievement, and that his reputation as a hunter may be enhanced,—as some men used to kill buffaloes on the plains, as long as there were any, simply for the sake of the killing. In other circumstances and relations of life he may be gentle and kind-hearted; but put him in the chase, and he knows no pity. Perhaps there are times when, after a conviction, he secretly says to himself:
"Thank God it was the jury's work, not mine! I did not convict him!"