\ 
 

 
 The Twelfth Juror
 
 The 
 
 TWELFTH 
 JUROR 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY HARRIOTT LARGE 
 
 THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 Boston, Massachusetts 
 
 1908
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1908 
 
 BT 
 
 THE C. M. CLARK PUBLISHING Co. 
 
 BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS 
 
 u. a. A.
 
 TO MRS. MARY J. RANDALL 
 
 MY FATHER'S FRIEND AND MINE 
 
 THIS STORY OF THE MOUNTAINEERS OF 
 
 DEAR "OL' KAINTUCK" 
 
 IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE stillness that, soon after the setting 
 of the sun and the rising of the mist, drops 
 like a pall over the small Kentucky moun- 
 tain villages was abruptly rent by the sharp 
 peal of a bell hanging in the courthouse 
 tower. Its summons, though unprecedented 
 at so late an hour, was obviously not unlocked 
 for, as lights at once began to gleam in the 
 windows of many of the humble dwellings 
 that cluster around the junction of the two 
 forks of the Kentucky river. There was 
 the clash and slam of house-doors hurriedly 
 opened and closed, the tread of feet hasten- 
 ing towards one point, and the shrill shriek 
 of the old iron gate that bars the entrance 
 to the county square, as, pushed back upon 
 its rusty hinges, it gave admittance to the 
 excited men who impatiently pressed beyond 
 it. This rare nocturnal disturbance was suc- 
 ceeded by a brief period of silence, and 
 then, once more, the heavy tramp of feet 
 accompanied now by a clamor of masculine 
 voices keyed high by excitement rose and 
 was echoed by the neighboring cliffs.
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 While the sheriff and his deputy led a 
 third figure through a side exit from the 
 county building, and over tufts of neglected 
 herbage to the jail that stands in the rear 
 and at right angles to the larger edifice, 
 a tall, slender man, who looked older than 
 his thirty years, ran swiftly down one of the 
 twin stairways that connect the court room 
 in the second floor of the building with 
 the open vestibule below, and evading those 
 of his fellow-villagers who lingered in the 
 square to discuss the outcome of the just 
 ended trial, hastened to a seldom used gate 
 in the side fence of the enclosure. Forcing 
 this barrier and its clumsy cannon-ball weight 
 a few inches forward, he slipped through 
 the gap, and choosing the worn, heel-marked 
 cut across the unpaved street, was in a moment 
 opposite the old well beside which the group 
 or disputants was now reluctantly separating. 
 Quickening his pace, the young man hurried 
 on, unmindful of the calls of "O Bruce! 
 Bruce Patterson! Just a minute, Patterson!" 
 from those by whom he had been recognized. 
 Entering a nearby hotel whose dilapidated 
 walls had sheltered him and his fellow- 
 jurors for the six nights that the law held 
 them captive in the room devoted to the
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 use of the state, he gathered together and 
 hastily crammed into a satchel such of 
 his personal belongings as had been sent 
 to him for his comfort during that period. 
 After putting his property into the charge 
 of a sleepy night-clerk to be kept until called 
 for, he hastened out and onward over the 
 bridge that here spans the deep ravine by 
 which Hollywood is bisected. Looking down 
 over the bridge railing, he had a fanciful 
 impression that from the dimly visible, gently 
 tossing corn blades far below there came 
 to him the reviving chill of a breeze blown 
 across the waves of some inland sea. 
 
 Now he had left the straggling, tumble- 
 down shacks that fringe the outskirts of the 
 village behind him and stood alone on a 
 path bounded by the river on the one hand 
 and by beetling cliffs of limestone on the 
 other. Here his steps slackened, while he 
 drew off both coat and collar, and inhaled 
 deep breaths of the moist night air, smiling 
 the while in sheer joy for his regained freedom. 
 As he halted, the full moon rose majestically 
 over the peaks on the "yon side," silvering 
 the veil of mist with which the Cumberlands 
 muffle their heads at night, and casting a 
 broad bridge of shimmering radiance across 
 
 3
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the water from bank to bank. In the tangled 
 weeds beneath his feet, crickets and katydids 
 added their strident calls to the mystic mur- 
 muring of the night; in overhanging branches 
 a wakeful nestling twittered plaintively to 
 its crooning mother bird; the air was electric 
 with swarms of darting fire-flies; beyond 
 the bend of the river, the measured dip of 
 oars made an undertone for the strains of an 
 old chorus sung by youthful voices. 
 
 When the loiterer on the river-path again 
 started forward, he, too, hummed the familiar 
 air, but soon the melody died away, and 
 notwithstanding his determined effort to 
 wrench his mind from the experiences so 
 recently ended, scenes, incidents and words 
 recorded by his over-active memory within 
 the last week would force themselves upon 
 his consciousness with exasperating dis- 
 tinctness. He looked back now with a kind 
 of self-pity to the morning when, while 
 detained in one of the offices of the county 
 building on a matter of private business, 
 the sheriff had approached him, and, in the 
 ponderously jocose manner affected by that 
 official, had bidden him "jes' step upstairs 
 an' lay by yore hat." Bruce had inwardly 
 resented the officer's familiarity and per-
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 sistence; an explanation from a good-natured 
 bystander had been needed to make it clear 
 to Mr. Patterson that back of the clownish 
 manner and the clumsy joke was the formal 
 summons of the Commonwealth to one of 
 her enfranchised. He had finally permitted 
 himself to be led up to the court room, with 
 the full intent of ending the disagreeable 
 episode in as brief a period as might be. 
 The presiding judge, who came from one 
 of the more important towns up the river, 
 was an old family friend, and would not 
 hesitate to accept any excuse he chose to 
 offer for evading jury duty. 
 
 It was difficult now, though he recalled 
 the occurrences of that day so clearly, for 
 the young man to fix upon the precise motive 
 that had turned him into a diametrically 
 opposite course; he only knew that, during 
 the tedious examination of the talesmen 
 previously summoned, he had resolved to 
 make no excuse, and, if unchallenged by 
 counsel for state and defense in the most 
 important case on the docket, to serve as 
 juror in a trial for murder. The potent 
 influence may have been the recollection of 
 the first months of his connection with a 
 northern university, where he had been com-
 
 The Twelfth Jurvr 
 
 Celled to permit repeated slurs and hos- 
 tile criticisms of his native state for her 
 record of unpunished homicide to remain 
 unanswered; or it may have been the remem- 
 brance of his dead father's lifelong chagrin 
 over the shameless laxity in the administra- 
 tion of law in the Kentucky highlands; 
 the burlesque trials the hung juries the 
 ridiculous inadequacy of such sentences as 
 (in rare instances) were imposed for clearly 
 proven crime and the untiring efforts the 
 elder Patterson had put forth to bring about 
 a reformation. Bruce had himself but re- 
 cently been hot with indignation on hearing 
 of a case in a county adjoining his home, 
 where, in spite of the fact that the proof 
 of murder committed had been shown above 
 all doubt or cavil, a re-hearing had been 
 granted, after which the second jury had 
 returned a verdict of manslaughter, and 
 for which the term of punishment had been 
 made two years' imprisonment. The sentence 
 had been lightened (because of good conduct 
 as the most lawless of mountaineers becomes 
 the most submissive prisoner if captured 
 and after a few months' confinement, a 
 hot-blooded defier of all law, totally dis- 
 regardful of the sanctity of human life, and 
 
 6
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 a sure marksman, had been liberated and free 
 to return to his old practices. Feuds had 
 been revived and he had become a menace to 
 all] by whom he might consider himself ag- 
 grieved even in trivial matters; but especially 
 so to the [men who had been brave enough to 
 testify against him, and to those who, upon 
 his first trial, had pronounced him guilty. 
 
 Whatever the determining cause of his 
 action, Mr. Patterson had looked up at the 
 judge and shaken his head in response to 
 the hastily scribbled words that dignitary 
 had sent him. He had been the last man 
 added to an inordinately large panel it 
 is with great difficulty that twelve "good 
 men and true," unbiased by kinship, by 
 fealty to the unwritten law of the feuds, 
 or any other circumstance or scruple, can 
 be selected from the scattered population 
 of this sparsely peopled region and it was 
 not until the day was drawing to its close, 
 and after a catechism much less searching 
 than that to which the men examined earlier 
 in the proceedings had been subjected, Bruce 
 Patterson was accepted by both state and 
 defense, and delivered into the custody of 
 the sheriff as the twelfth juror. 
 
 His first night of absence from home
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 while engaged upon this novel duty had 
 been one full of interest. While idly speculat- 
 ing upon his wife's reception of the tidings 
 that her husband had been forced to pay 
 one of the assessments the government exacts 
 in return for the privilege of the franchise, 
 he had chuckled like any schoolboy at the 
 thought of her panic over the manner in which 
 he and the other jurymen were herded in 
 one room of the old hotel where the juries 
 of the county had been housed for years. 
 When he turned his attention to his com- 
 panions, he found the personality and speech 
 of his eleven mates, most of whom came 
 from "a- way up yander" (as the moun- 
 taineer is apt to locate his habitation) even 
 more unique, more darkly stained by the 
 dyes of a bygone period than he had ever 
 before deemed them. 
 
 At the opening of court on the following 
 morning, Bruce took his seat in the jury- 
 box with no regret for the impulse that 
 had led him thither, but with sensations 
 of keen expectancy for the ordeal that now 
 confronted him. He knew little of the pris- 
 oner at the bar except his name Judson 
 Tyree for the case was one of those trans- 
 ferred from another county for more impartial 
 
 8
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 hearing, and while distance in this region 
 is short if measured " as the crow flies," it 
 is long when reckoned by the time required 
 to get from one locality to another. The 
 murdered man had been a revenue officer 
 and a justly incensed government was ready 
 to make strenuous endeavor to punish this 
 one of a long list of like offenses. What 
 evidence there was against the accused man 
 was of a purely circumstantial character 
 there had been no witness to the act and 
 abundant testimony was to be offered in 
 rebuttal as to the prisoner's record as a 
 quiet, law-abiding man. 
 
 In the early days of the trial by jury, when 
 news travelled but slowly, the jurymen were 
 chosen from the witnesses to the crime, 
 and total ignorance of even collateral facts 
 would, of course, have disqualified a man 
 for jury duty. In these later years, when 
 reports of the most trivial happenings are 
 flashed from pole to pole almost within 
 the instant of their occurrence, and when 
 to be unposted as to the most minute detail 
 of all that is transpiring at the earth's remotest 
 bound implies either callous indifference to 
 contemporary history, or absolute illiteracy, 
 the law requires that every man who acts 
 
 9
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 as juror shall be uninformed as to the crime 
 upon trial. 
 
 During the second day in the court room, 
 Mr. Patterson found that it was with diffi- 
 culty he could hold his attention to the meagre 
 evidence extorted from terror-stricken indi- 
 viduals, who were in turn tortured, bullied 
 and insulted, and whose drawling admissions 
 were distorted and tangled in a mass of 
 utterly irrelevant matter. Fortunately for his 
 equanimity, Bruce had on previous occasions 
 been a spectator of the amazing machinery 
 of the modern tribunal of justice; he had 
 before been auditor to the exchange of vitu- 
 peration between prosecuting and defending 
 attorneys; he had long since learned that 
 trickery, chicanery and melodramatic appeal 
 are the foundation stones for the oratorical 
 structures erected by the up-to-date lawyer. 
 
 He was drowsy and dull for want of sleep. 
 His second night of captivity penned in 
 the one room with the eleven other men, 
 from whose hot, unbathed flesh exuded an 
 acrid odor, intensified in its nauseating quali- 
 ties by the fumes that rose from their soiled 
 garments and the stench of the home-cured 
 tobacco they all smoked had not been cal- 
 culated to induce rest. During the evening 
 
 10
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 he had been forced to listen and laugh ai 
 tiresome, obscene jokes, while every fibre 
 of his being was demanding a cold plunge 
 and a clean bed. One of his room-mates, 
 after watching him perform such ablutions 
 as were possible under existing circumstances, 
 was moved to protest against this unnecessary 
 laving of one's skin at bedtime, and to show 
 resentment for what he chose to regard 
 as an implication against the personal hab- 
 its of the other occupants of the crowded 
 chamber. 
 
 "Thar's one thing yo' can't wash ofFn 
 yo' nary mite, Bruce Patterson, with all 
 yore scrubbin'," he asserted at last with 
 an angry wag of his tousled head; "yore 
 pap was a mountin man, an' yo' air sure 
 a mountin boy, hair, hide an' tallow." 
 
 When conversation finally ceased, the air 
 was made sonorous by lusty snores and 
 the jangle of bells on the necks of restless 
 cows lying on the ground just below the 
 window, mingled with the squeals of a litter 
 of pigs in a tumble-down sned in the rear 
 of the hotel. Besides its overplus of human 
 occupants, the room was also populated by 
 insects of the carnivorous species, and sleep, 
 that at the beginning of the night had been 
 
 11
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 an impossibility, at its close was a horror. 
 
 The examination of the witnesses was 
 prolonged beyond all precedent, the character 
 and antecedents of the dead officer being 
 as minutely inspected as those of the prisoner, 
 and as the nights were duplicates of each 
 other as to physical discomfort, by the fourth 
 day of the trial, Juror Patterson found it 
 futile to try to concentrate his weary senses 
 on the slow progress of the case. In spite 
 of himself, his thoughts would wander to 
 the songs sung by children in a neighboring 
 school, or drift into idle speculation as to 
 the vintage of the headgear (the word hat 
 hardly described some of the nondescript 
 articles) that hung on the pegs in the wall 
 just back of the judge's bench. He was 
 often assailed, too, by doubts that had long 
 been his, as to whether the continuation 
 of the trial by jury is in accord with the 
 progress the world has made along other 
 lines. 
 
 It was during this fourth day of the trial 
 that an incident roused him to a more acute 
 realization of his share of responsibility in 
 deciding the fate of the man accused of 
 murder. As his roving glance happened to 
 fix itself upon Tyree's head bent low over
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 his chest the prisoner suddenly lifted his 
 eyes and let them run from one to another 
 of the jurymen until they lighted upon Bruce's 
 face. Then for a long second the two pairs 
 of eyes were riveted upon each other, as 
 by some invisible influence, and as Tyree 
 again lowered his head, Bruce felt his own 
 heart-beats quicken, for he believed he had 
 received a mute confession of guilt. From 
 that moment on, the attention of the twelfth 
 juror was unswervingly set upon the pro- 
 ceedings in the court room. 
 
 The trial dragged to its conclusion. In 
 verbose arguments the opposing counsel did 
 all they could to cloud and befuddle the 
 minds of the men with whom lay the outcome; 
 and in his charge, the iudge had still further 
 confused them by dwelling upon the phrase 
 "reasonable doubt." 
 
 In the room devoted to the deliberations 
 of the jurors, Bruce was promptly elected 
 foreman, and took the chair with the firm 
 belief that in a brief period his self-elected 
 duty to the Commonwealth would be as a 
 tale that is told. To his dismay, the first 
 ballot taken revealed a wide divergence of 
 opinion. Only four had voted with him 
 five had cast their votes for acquittal and 
 
 13
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 two had not voted at all. The foreman 
 spent all that night in reading the transcribed 
 evidence to the others, explaining and reason- 
 ing as he read. One noary-headed high- 
 lander blankly refused to take any part in 
 the discussion, but after voicing his opinion 
 that "all them revenues was durned sKunks 
 he 'lowed the more bullets that was popped 
 through their hides the better," he threw 
 himself upon a cot and was soon asleep. 
 
 In the struggle with these alert but untrained 
 minds, Bruce felt all his power for logical 
 demonstration and subtle persuasion, which 
 had gained him notoriety in his student 
 days, awaken within him. His task was 
 a double one, for not only had much of the 
 language of the record that he read to be 
 translated into words and phrases familiar 
 to these sons of the mountains, but, at times, 
 he was obliged to practically transpose the 
 thought back of the words into a key more 
 in accord with the simple life harmony of 
 these " belated ancestors of ours." 
 
 The Kentucky mountaineer has but a 
 rudimentary imagination; with him, as with 
 his forbears, yea means yea and nay nay. 
 He has not yet attained that breadth of 
 thought that recognizes the intermediate shades 
 
 14
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 between the black of the one and the white 
 of the other as legitimate color. Below 
 the surface of things with each of the eleven 
 men, lay the unspoken fear of what might 
 be the result to himself if any verdict was 
 returned. This unacknowledged factor had 
 also to be met and overthrown. 
 
 As the hands of the clock moved on, the 
 foreman's determination that some verdict 
 was to be reached crystalized into adamant, 
 and as all conclusions to be arrived at by 
 means of the testimony even ignoring that 
 wordless message that he believed he had 
 received from the prisoner's eyes to his 
 mind pointed the one way, he made prodigal 
 use of his ability for arranging and presenting 
 facts in such sequence as to mould the views 
 of his auditors upon the same pattern as 
 his own. As the hours of the next day 
 rolled by, opposition to his pleas grew more 
 and more feeble and finally ceased. During 
 that evening the sheriff was notified that 
 the jury were ready to report, the bell in 
 the tower sent its summons out into the 
 darkness, and, before those who assembled 
 at its call, Foreman Patterson announced 
 that the jury found the prisoner guilty 
 of the crime of which he stood charged 
 
 15
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 murder. 
 
 Bruce then, as before stated, slipped away 
 from those who lingered to discuss this first 
 verdict of wilful murder that had been re- 
 turned in that county for many a year. He 
 longed to be alone; but while escape from 
 his fellowmen was easily accomplished, he 
 could not so readily evade the legions of 
 doubts and queries which he put to himself. 
 
 Sentence had been postponed until the 
 following day, and while Bruce knew that 
 he was in no wise accountable for the punish- 
 ment prescribed by the statutes, a strife 
 between his sense of justice triumphant and 
 his sympathy for the condemned man fairly 
 unnerved him. As he hurried homeward, 
 he tried to quell these thronging anxieties 
 bv the theory that the manifold problems 
 with which his overwrought brain was teem- 
 ing were the natural outcome of physical 
 and mental fatigue; of his need for sleep 
 and wholesome food, and with all his heart 
 he rejoiced that his home was near. 
 
 He wondered what welcome, Letitia, his 
 wife, would give him. The trial and all 
 therewith connected would be void of any 
 interest for her, as the two years that had 
 elapsed since he brought his northern bride 
 
 16
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to his Kentucky home had drawn her into 
 no ties of intimacy, or even bonds of acquaint- 
 anceship, with his mountain people. She 
 filled her days with reading and desultory 
 study, with experiments in house decoration, 
 and with long epistles written to her northern 
 relatives and friends, among whom she in- 
 sisted on spending much of each year. 
 
 She was yet less familiar with this walled- 
 off region of her native land, its old-time 
 customs, its unusual standards and its obsolete 
 phraseology, than she was with the speech 
 and habits of the populations of far distant 
 continents. Her husband well knew that 
 her welcome to him now would depend on 
 the extent his six days' absence from home 
 had interfered with her personal plans and 
 comfort, and, wholly exhausted as he was, 
 he could but hope that he had not been 
 greatly missed. 
 
 At last he arrived at the tree whose rugged 
 bole divides the wagon road up the moun- 
 tain side, and turned into a narrow footpath 
 that led across the wooded approach to his 
 own door. He could see a light streaming 
 from one of the windows of the dwelling 
 built by his great-grandfather; a few more 
 steps and the air was rent by a wild howl, 
 
 11
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and "Meh Lady," his huge St. Bernard, 
 was bounding towards him, fawning and 
 leaping upon him in wild exuberance of 
 delight. At the bark of the dog, one of the 
 house doors opened and the light from within 
 illuminated the porch and the path along 
 which he was hastening. Then a voice 
 called doubtfully: "Bruce?". . . and Letitia 
 stepped into sight, dainty and serene, shading 
 the lighted candle she held with one slim 
 palm. 
 
 "Oh! It is you" she exclaimed as the 
 man sprang towards her. "Pah! how you 
 smell of stale tobacco smoke! Down, Lady! 
 Turn the dog out she will tear us to bits. 
 I thought I heard a bell some time ago, 
 but I was not positive. Come in!" and she 
 led the way into the house. 
 
 Her husband as he followed her was played 
 upon by a medley of emotions. There was 
 disappointment, and there was sardonic amuse- 
 ment that there should be disappointment; 
 there was appreciation of the charm of the 
 woman's person and garb and above all 
 there was a sense of relief that his welcome, 
 if somewhat cold, had not been unfriendly. 
 Letitia took her seat at the desk where she 
 had evidently been writing when interrupted 
 
 18
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 by his coming, and carefully blew out the 
 candle she had carried to the door, while 
 Bruce, drawing a chair nearer hers, caught 
 one of her hands and held it imprisoned 
 in both his own. 
 
 "How have you-all been, and how is 
 everything ?" he asked with a smile. 
 
 "We-afl have been as peart as common, 
 I reckon," she mocked. 
 
 Bruce laughed. "You will have your old 
 task to perform again, I fear," he said. 
 "There is no telling how many errors of 
 speech I may have re-acquired during the 
 past week. There were moments when I 
 was mighty glad I had not entirely forgotten 
 the mountain dialect." His wife sat silent. 
 She had drawn her hand from his and was 
 nervously moving the papers about on her 
 desk. 
 
 "Don't you feel any curiosity about the 
 trial in which your husband acted as twelfth 
 juror, Letitia ?' Bruce asked jokingly. 
 
 "I have been deeply interested in it," 
 she returned to his surprise, "immensely 
 interested." Then, after another silence she 
 added: "Judson Tyree's wife and children 
 are staying out here now in Aunt Philomee's 
 cabin. I thought it best to have them here 
 
 19
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 there was so much that I could do for them. 
 Mrs. Tyree has talked with me about this 
 crime of which her husband is accused, 
 and I knew there could be but the one verdict. 
 I felt sure that after all those fine speeches 
 of yours in the old university days, you 
 would not suffer a disagreement. I told 
 her so." 
 
 "No," he replied and his lips set, "I 
 fought hard, but I fought to win." 
 
 "I was sure it would be so," she rejoined, 
 and her gray eyes softened and rested upon 
 him with a glow of pride in their depths. 
 "I have not forgotten your skill in debate. 
 I knew these mountain-men would have 
 to succumb. And when can the poor man 
 join his family and take them back home? 
 Aunt Philomee has acted in the most un- 
 reasonable way about having them in her 
 cabin." 
 
 "Join his family? Take them back 
 home ?" echoed Bruce vacantly. 
 
 "Yes. When will Tyree be released 
 tomorrow? I know there are legal formali- 
 ties that have to be observed." 
 
 Bruce stared dumbly into the now bril- 
 liant eyes that were questioning his. 
 
 " Why do you not answer, Bruce ?" Letitia 
 
 30
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 exclaimed impatiently, her brow furrowed 
 by frowns. Then in changed tones "You 
 cannot mean . . . why . . . tell me . . . 
 what was the verdict ?" 
 
 "Our verdict was guilty," he replied, all 
 the light that his home-coming had kindled 
 in his face and voice dying out. 
 
 "Guilty?" she cried, and he saw her 
 brows contract more closely and her eyes 
 harden. Then, without word or sign, she 
 sprang to her feet and fled into the hall 
 and up the stairway. 
 
 " Letitia!" called her husband as he followed 
 her, "Letitia! Listen! Letitia!" 
 
 She rushed into her room and flung the 
 door to in his face. 
 
 "Letitia! he plead, leaning heavily against 
 the door-frame. 
 
 The only response from within was the 
 click of the bolt as it shot into its socket.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 COWED and heartsick, Bruce looked at 
 the closed door, fighting down the impulse 
 that bade him force the lock and demand 
 an explanation for his wife's repulse; but 
 his was the temperament that shrinks in 
 dismay from even the suggestion of an open 
 quarrel, from any determined assertion of 
 one's individual claims. 
 
 He was of that ultra-sensitive class who 
 choose to dwell under lowering clouds and 
 inhale fetid, murky air, rather than welcome 
 the fury of a storm that can both cleanse 
 and heal. He was painfully conscious of 
 his ever increasing disability to combat with 
 Letitia's strong will. Conscious of the grow- 
 ing ease with which she could control his 
 actions, at times even his thoughts, when 
 she fastened her scintillant eyes directly 
 upon his, and, when alone, the trend of such 
 weak submission took shape before his mental 
 vision, he made fervent resolves to end such 
 conditions resolves that in his wife's pres- 
 ence were apt to become mere emotions 
 of rebellious disquiet.
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 As he stood still hesitant, he heard his 
 name called softly from the further end 
 of the hall, and turning in automatic response, 
 upon his tired eyes there dawned a vision 
 a young girl, warm and rosy from her bath, 
 her mop of tousled, red-gold hair framing 
 a piquant, charming face, leaned from a 
 partly opened door and beckoned to him. 
 This vision was swathed in long draperies 
 of a pale blue tint and a silky texture, that, 
 falling apart here and there, gave glimpses 
 of underlying folds of snowy cambric and 
 lace, and of a pair of small, high-arched 
 bare feet thrust into run-down and otherwise 
 disreputable slippers. 
 
 "You, Cousin Bruce! Come here!" com- 
 manded the vision in an imperious whisper, 
 and as the man moved towards her, the 
 girl sprang out into the hall, flung both 
 arms around him and pressed her soft cheek 
 to his. 
 
 "How heavenly it is to have you back 
 again," she cried. "It has seemed an age 
 since you left. I was morally certain that 
 you would come back last evening, you silly boy, 
 and I coaxed Aunt Phil to cook up all sorts 
 of nice things for your supper. She would 
 only let us have the tiniest smidgeon of 
 
 23
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 anything because she wanted to save it all 
 for you. And then you didn't come! Oh! 
 She was mightily indignant, I can tell you, 
 sir, when you failed to appear, and I have 
 been afraid even to look towards her today. 
 But, come along! There's sure to be some- 
 thing or other in the ice-box. Let's go 
 down and forage. I'm always about famished 
 after washing my hair, and you must be half 
 starved, you poor, tired soul!" and Bruce 
 was dragged along by the clinging arms, 
 while a faint, flower-like odor rose to his 
 nostrils from the damp curls bobbing so near. 
 
 "I hope," continued the girl, as the two 
 entered the dining-room where Bruce struck 
 a match and lighted the hanging lamp, 
 "I do surely hope that that poor wretch 
 you-all have been tormenting will have a 
 good supper tonight, too. Or will they not 
 let him go before morning ?" 
 
 "Did you say let him go, Joyce?" turning 
 to her from the lamp. 
 
 "Yes. Loosen nis chains and fetters, if 
 they use such things nowadays, and set 
 him free. Cousin Letitia reckoned maybe 
 they wouldn't release him before tomorrow." 
 
 "Hardly then," her cousin answered, the 
 light that had been stealing over his features 
 
 24
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 dying out again; "hardly then, for he was 
 proven guilty." 
 
 "Guilty?" gasped the girl, turning pale. 
 
 "You didn't Oh! Were you 
 
 quite sure ?" Then as she noticed 
 
 the weary droop of his body and the dark 
 circles beneath his eyes, she pushed him 
 into a chair with a return of her former 
 manner and said: 'There! We are not 
 to think about him tonight. You sit still 
 and I will go hunt through the pantries 
 and see if I can't scare up a feast that will 
 make you forget your riotous living at the 
 Spencer House." 
 
 She disappeared, and the man sat where 
 she had placed him, his faculties half be- 
 numbed, yet with a subtle sense of physical 
 well-being creeping over him. When his 
 cousin Joyce returned, she carried a tray 
 on which stood a tall bottle and two glasses, 
 a small platter of cold fried chicken, some 
 beaten biscuit and a bowl of berries. 
 
 "That is 'ary mite' that can be raked 
 and scraped," she announced, setting the 
 tray down on a table near him. " Told 
 you that Aunt Philomee was disgruntled. 
 She did everything yesterday in honor of 
 the return of the prodigal except kill the 
 
 25
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 fatted calf. That animal had been promised 
 to Toppy that was all that saved it and 
 then you didn't appear, as any well-behaved 
 prodigal should. Come," as Bruce sat motion- 
 less, ''eatin' done ready," and she gave 
 him a little push and then went round and 
 took a seat at the table opposite his. 
 
 "As aforesaid, I'm well nigh famished 
 myself," she announced with a laugh as she 
 helped herself to one of the chicken bones 
 and began to nibble at it. 
 
 Bruce looked across at this personifica- 
 tion of budding womanhood that faced him. 
 He had never yet wakened to a full conscious- 
 ness that his little Cousin Joyce, who had 
 lived in his home almost from her infancy, 
 had already passed the point where the 
 child meets the woman, and was blossoming 
 into beauty that was fairly intoxicating. An 
 unacknowledged regret for his action of 
 three years previous, that, like the pang 
 of an incuraole wound, never ceased but 
 was rarely insistent, suddenly became poign- 
 ant. The young girl's tender solicitude for 
 his comfort, her gracious thought for all 
 his needs, pressed upon chords of his nature 
 hitherto mute. A beguiling thought of what 
 a home-coming might have meant for him 
 
 26
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 if only ... he had been less passive . . . 
 acted on his exhausted senses like wine. 
 From the depths of his eyes flashed a light 
 never before seen there. He leaned across 
 the intervening space and laid his hand 
 on one of the dimpled arms that rested on 
 the table. "Joyce! Joyce!" he whispered 
 hoarsely. 
 
 The girl drew her arm away nervously 
 and shrank back in her chair, instinctively 
 folding her loose draperies more closely about 
 her. 
 
 "Why, Cousin Bruce!" she stammered 
 in embarrassment, raising her dark eyes to 
 his glowing gaze as frankly as though she 
 were still the tiny maid that had been brought 
 to share his home fifteen years before. 
 
 The man flushed with shame and then 
 laughed foolishly. "Don't listen to what 
 I say, don't mind what I do tonight, Joyce, 
 my dear kinswoman," he said earnestly after 
 a tense silence. " I am so worn out physically 
 and mentally that I am no longer responsible. 
 You talk to me. Tell me all that has hap- 
 pened since I have been away. How many 
 more of those Blue Grass young men have 
 discovered the wonderful charm of our 
 mountains ?" 
 
 27
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 The girl blushed and bridled, all her 
 serenity restored. A dimple that lurked near 
 the left corner of her mouth came and went 
 and went and came again before she replied. 
 
 " You had two visitors last Sunday," she 
 finally said with a glance full of mischief; 
 "at least they asked for you when they 
 came and were mighty sorry not to find you 
 here." 
 
 "And you had to console them for my 
 absence as best you could," he retorted 
 dryly. " And how about David Carroll ? 
 Was he so almighty sorry to miss me when 
 he came, also?" trying to swallow some 
 of the food she kept urging upon him. 
 
 "I have seen nothing of Mr. Carroll for 
 days," she answered, trying to assume an 
 air of lofty indifference, "except in church 
 with his Aunt Nora last Sunday.' 
 
 "And I'll warrant you flaunted your Blue 
 Grass beaux between him and his prayers," 
 said Bruce, bent on banishing from her 
 mind that one mad moment that was the out- 
 come of circumstances and not of any real 
 emotion. "Careful, Joyce! David's a fine 
 fellow, if he does keep in harness longer 
 than we deem necessary. You may be quite 
 sure of one thing, little girl. My guardian- 
 
 28
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 ship hitherto may have seemed somewhat 
 careless, and mistakes may have been made 
 that could have been avoided, perhaps, but 
 when it comes to giving this," and he touched 
 her hand lightly, "to any one, I am going 
 to be sure that no mistake is made." 
 
 "But I don't want to be given to any 
 one, ever, Cousin Bruce. I want to stay 
 with you here always," coming round to 
 him, laying her hands on his shoulders and 
 bending her head down to his, "if you and 
 Cousin Letitia are willing to have me. I 
 reckon no one will ever take me for a gift, 
 anyhow no one that counts." 
 
 Bruce looked up quickly. 
 
 "It will have to be some one who counts 
 and counts high," he asserted emphatically. 
 "I'm not so sure that Sir Galahad himself 
 could get you with my consent and blessing." 
 
 "Sir Galahad!" she mocked. "I wouldn't 
 be given to any man who did not know 
 how to mount his horse." 
 
 They laughed together over the old joke 
 about the famous picture of the young knight, 
 and then there was a silence until, with a 
 changed tone and expression, the man asked: 
 
 "Tell me, Joyce, why both you and my 
 wife thought the prisoner, Tyree, would 
 
 29
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 be acquitted. Do you believe him innocent ?" 
 "I hardly know," answered the girl slowly. 
 " I reckon I just believed what Cousin Letitia 
 told me. You know Mrs. Tyree has been 
 staying out here for two or three days. Some 
 one brought her over from Troublesome 
 with her baby and little boy, and she was 
 staying with her kin over the river when 
 Cousin Letitia heard of her in some way 
 and had her come out here. Cousin Letitia 
 has taken one of her tremendous fancies 
 to them, or to doing for them, and has put 
 them into Aunt Philomee's cabin for the 
 time. My! but there was a row! Mrs. Tyree 
 is very handsome in a gypsy-like fashion, 
 but you simply can't conceive any one more 
 lazy or slovenly than she. The poor baby 
 did need care the worst way, and the boy, 
 about six or seven years old, is a perfect 
 dear just too bright for anything. Aunt 
 Phil announced that she * wouldn't sleep 
 under the roof with no such low-down white 
 trash,' so she has been using Topp's bed 
 and I reckon Toppy and Jum have been 
 sleeping on the floor. We all thought Mr. 
 Tyree would be released and take them 
 back to their own home in a few days, and 
 I don't see just what will be done now. But 
 
 30
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 you look tired to death, and must not talk 
 about other people's troubles any more. 
 Go up to bed at once," and she gathered 
 the scattered dishes on the tray. "Hold 
 a light for me a minute, Cousin Bruce, and 
 I will set this back in the kitchen." 
 
 Bruce rose and took the tray from her 
 hands and carried it out himself. When 
 he came back, the two walked together to 
 the foot of the stairs, where they halted. 
 
 "Better come right up," Joyce advised, 
 as she saw he was intending to remain below. 
 "You look as if you needed a week's sleep." 
 
 "I wish I might have it," he responded 
 fervently. "I won't stay up long. Good 
 night, ma belle cousine. Happy dreams!" 
 
 "Good night, mon beau cousin! Sweet 
 repose!" she replied saucily, while she leaned 
 over the banister and patted the top of his 
 head. 
 
 When she was out of sight, Bruce returned 
 to the room where he had talked with his 
 wife, and where a light still burned. He 
 threw himself heavily into a chair and tried 
 to face the cloudy future. Past experience 
 had taught him what any active disagreement 
 with Letitia's opinions meant for him; he 
 was unfortunately familiar with the petty, 
 
 31
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 undignified means by which she expressed 
 her displeasure. The color rose in his cheeks 
 as he recalled occasions since his marriage 
 when his wife's manner towards him had 
 been that of a tyrannical mother disciplining 
 a naughty child. Again and again he had 
 passively endured her autocratic rule rather 
 than be subjected to one of those mortifying 
 scenes mortifying not to him alone, he ad- 
 mitted with a spasm of mental nausea, but 
 to every one made an involuntary spectator 
 of such belittling passages. He had seen 
 wonder and dismay creep into the eyes of 
 his life-long friends at his subservience to 
 his wife's whims a dismay that sometimes 
 changed to poorly concealed disgust and 
 to make no protest against unkind judgment, 
 to attempt no explanation for his inexplica- 
 ble attitude to those whom it wounded or 
 affronted, these were elements in his repara- 
 tion to his unloved wife on which he had 
 not reckoned. It was his desire that no one 
 should suspect that the secret of his strange 
 conduct, of his false position in his household, 
 was that he had no love for the woman who 
 had married him, but the fact that no one 
 did suspect it least of all Letitia herself 
 puzzled him. 
 
 32
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 He was so thoroughly exhausted tonight 
 that his faculties were blunt, and though 
 he pondered over what he had learned during 
 the last hour, he only speculated vaguely 
 as to what Tyree's wife could have told. 
 Letitia was always so intense in her partizan- 
 ship and so extreme in her prejudices that, 
 so far as her disagreement with the verdict 
 was concerned, he felt no disquiet. It was 
 the doubts of himself, of his judgment, of 
 how far he had been biased in weighing 
 the evidence by his desire that for once, at 
 least, a mountain murder should be followed 
 by lawful punishment that disturbed him. 
 He wished it had been possible for him 
 to talk with this mountain woman whose 
 story had convinced not only Letitia but 
 Joyce, and he knew not how many others. 
 During a stay in the North some months 
 previous he had been interested in certain 
 experiments made by a psychologist to prove 
 the diversity of effect the same cause produces 
 on different minds, the conclusion being 
 that the human senses are unreliable. That 
 being once granted, how could any one 
 assume to judge the acts of his fellow ? What 
 if after all Tyree were not but he realized 
 that he was fast drifting into slumber, and 
 
 33
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 with an effort roused to sufficient conscious- 
 ness to get upon his feet, turn out the light 
 and stumble up the stairs to his room, where 
 he tore off his garments and threw himself 
 upon the bed, and merciful oblivion claimed 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 A WAVE of critical comment had surged 
 around the ears of the elder Patterson, when, 
 after the graduation of his son and only 
 child, Bruce, from a preparatory school in 
 one of the cities of his native state, a rumor 
 had been circulated that it was the father's 
 intention to have the young man enter a 
 northern university. Many of the hostile 
 criticisms were made to him direct, for Hiram 
 Patterson, owner of the Hollywood coal 
 mines, was a man whom all respected but 
 few feared, but he had only laughed and 
 joked in reply. It was only with the old 
 doctor of the community, a contemporary 
 as well as a cherished friend, that he discussed 
 the subject with any seriousness, and to the 
 practitioner's characteristic explosions, the 
 mine-owner had replied calmly : 
 
 "Well, I allow, Doctor, that we-all down 
 this-a-way have been living on corn-pone 
 and ash cake a mighty long while; a change 
 to light bread may be a good thing for the 
 boy, physically and mentally. Eh ?" 
 
 ~iat if the young cuss learns to like 
 
 35
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 their light bread so well that he loses his 
 taste for corn-pone altogether?" queried the 
 physician, leaning forward to shake his pipe 
 over the great wood-fire before which the 
 two old comrades sat, before refilling it. 
 
 "Let him stay up there and eat it," was 
 the quick retort. Then with conviction : " If 
 he should turn out that sort of a man, the 
 Yanks are welcome to him. I didn't say 
 I wanted him to live on light bread alone, 
 did I ? But this everlastin' and eternal parcel- 
 in' our country into the light-bread section 
 and the hot-bread section is bound to end 
 directly, and maybe that end would come 
 about a mite the sooner if each of us was 
 a le-etle more ready to taste the other's victuals 
 material and otherwise. 
 
 " Did it ever strike you, Doc, that the men 
 who made the greatest todo against per- 
 mitting the southern states to withdraw from 
 the Union, and most actively opposed any 
 division of our common country, have been 
 the very ones who, since General Lee's 
 surrender, have done the most to keep alive 
 the smoldering embers of sectional animosity ? 
 Curious, ain't it ?" 
 
 "Nothing is too damned queer for those 
 old Puritans. You and I can't be too thank- 
 
 36
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 ful, Hi, that no grandfather of ours squeezed 
 himself and his kin and all the family pots 
 and kettles and cradles and clocks into the 
 Mayflower. I reckon the crowding the Pil- 
 grim Fathers and Mothers got on that 
 voyage of theirs cramped their brains as 
 well as their limbs, and their narrow minds 
 have been handed down to posterity along 
 with a lot of other rubbish. That's why 
 the folks up there are so bigotty and opinion- 
 ated, I take it. They can't see more than 
 one side to anything, unless it's a dollar, 
 -and they clutch that so tight that heads 
 and tails come near being on the same side." 
 "Well, well, Doctor," said Mr. Patterson, 
 pacifically; and then, after the two had 
 smoked in silence for a few moments, he 
 continued: :< We've got to admit, we men 
 of the Kentucky mountains, that our corner 
 of the nation has, somehow or the other, 
 fallen out of ranks in the general march 
 forward. It is for the younger generation 
 to take hold now and lift it back into its 
 proper place in the procession. That's what 
 I am planning to have Bruce ready to do. 
 The boy has that gift, rarer now than it used 
 to be, a golden tongue, and I want him 
 trained to use it for the betterment of con- 
 
 37
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 ditions right here in these mountains. The 
 mines will yield him an income, so there 
 is no need for fitting him for actual bread- 
 winning, and I want him taught the best 
 methods of probing into the festering sore 
 of our sectional politics, of cleansing and 
 healing it. I want him able to lead reforms 
 in our commercial and social codes yes, 
 in our laws and the administration of them." 
 
 The medical man smiled grimly. "Good 
 Lord, Hi!" he ejaculated. "If you aim to 
 train him for a reformer, he'll have to develop 
 other sets of muscles besides those of his 
 tongue. A reformer! If that's the route 
 you're mapping out for him, he'll have to 
 toughen up his fists .... and his heart, 
 too, I reckon," he concluded with a sigh. 
 
 So the younger Patterson had gone from 
 his home and for four years had eaten the 
 light bread of the North. He had, at the 
 time, but partially realized his loneliness 
 among his countrymen, who held aloof from 
 him as from an alien. He had felt pangs 
 of real heartsickness for the wild beauty 
 of his native hills and forests; for the river 
 and its rafts; for life free from meaningless 
 forms; for a people, who, notwithstanding 
 grievous blemishes in manner and morals, 
 
 38
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 in spirit approached the type once set as 
 the ideal for all races and all time "as a 
 little child." 
 
 For the first two years of his stay at the 
 university, the young Kentuckian had re- 
 mained an unmarked unit somewhat above 
 the average student in scholarship but void 
 of any ambition, any desire for a high rank; 
 with a good-humored "cm bono" for the 
 hard grind of one set of his mates, and another 
 (less amiable) for the subterfuges, the eva- 
 sions, the shirking of all responsibility of the 
 other set. 
 
 It was early in his junior year that, at 
 a reunion of the fraternity he had joined 
 more to please the few men who had 
 shown him marked friendliness than from 
 any inclination of his own a call was sud- 
 denly made upon him to respond to the 
 toast "An Undivided Country." Fired by 
 his theme, spurred by the prick of unconcealed 
 amusement displayed by many present that 
 a southern man should have to handle 
 such a sentiment, his words had roused all 
 hearers unto wildest enthusiasm. He had 
 stood, the embodiment of two wellnigh extinct 
 species the orator and the patriot, and 
 with convincing argument, had shot the
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 arrows of truth straight to the heart of fraudu- 
 lent statecraft. His fearless arraignment of 
 the practices of the leading politicians of 
 the day had been published in full by the 
 papers of the adjoining metropolis, with 
 the result that within a week the young 
 Kentuckian had emerged from obscurity into 
 the glare of an associated press, his opinions, 
 his photograph and the pattern of his shirts 
 being published all over the land for the 
 edification of the people. 
 
 During his earlier student life, Bruce had 
 noticed a girl, the daughter of one of the 
 university professors, whose personality per- 
 vaded the social life of the campus at that 
 period like some subtle odor pleasing to 
 some, disagreeable to others, but recognized 
 by all. Letitia Phelps was not a beauty, 
 not even pretty, as were many of the young 
 girls in the families of the faculty. She 
 had a trim, erect figure, a well-shaped head 
 covered with dark hair, and the delicate 
 coloring of the typical New England maid. 
 The most distinguishing characteristic of her 
 face was a certain peculiarity about the 
 muscles of her long grey eyes, by which 
 a scintillant effect was given the iris, which 
 appeared to fairly rotate at times behind 
 
 40
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her long black lashes, and to suggest the 
 mysterious and the occult to one who looked 
 directly into them. The girl's will was strong 
 and uncurbed; and while her impulses were 
 often generous and praiseworthy, she was 
 apt to act upon them with no serious con- 
 sideration of result. She delighted in making 
 donations, and would give of her own posses- 
 sions, or of the goods and chattels of others 
 if so be she could levy upon them, to any 
 who begged an alms of her, undeterred by 
 the possibility that by so doing she might be 
 creating a need more urgent than that which 
 she had in mind to supply. She had been 
 known to sweep the family breakfast from 
 the table and despatch it by one of the maids 
 to relieve an uninvestigated chronicle of 
 destitution that had caught her notice in 
 a sensational morning's journal, oblivious 
 of and indifferent to the fact that her father 
 had been at work in his study for hours 
 and was faint for lack of food, and that 
 her mother's day was one of nervous disquiet 
 if the prescribed routine of domestic service 
 was set awry. 
 
 She was spasmodic in her partizanship, 
 and a ready disciple of any movement that 
 had caught public attention, and as incon- 
 
 41
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 sistent in her private application of the 
 theories promulgated by the endless "move- 
 ments" as are most of such easily won con- 
 verts. She was of the number, who, while 
 vehemently applauding the principles of social 
 equality, hasten to burn the modest, pen- 
 written card that poor Mrs. Lazarus has 
 dropped in the tray with sincere regret to 
 find her old friends away from home on 
 the afternoon she had hoped for a pleasant 
 visit, but who manage that the engraved 
 announcement that the Misses Dives have 
 sent in from their carriage, by a footman, 
 shall lodge in a spot where all who run 
 may read this evidence of distinguished 
 acquaintance. 
 
 She loved celebrity, however garbed, and 
 after the young Kentuckian's unanticipated 
 burst of splendid oratory had thrust him 
 into focus of the public eye, she was untiring 
 in her friendly overtures to him and in invita- 
 tions to her home. Being a southern man, 
 he could only meet courtesy with its like, 
 and as he fancied he found a resemblance 
 in Mrs. Phelps to the mother he had lost 
 when a lad of twelve, and already there 
 existed between Professor Phelps and him- 
 self a timid mutual esteem, his visits to the 
 
 4ft
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 house of this member of the faculty soon 
 outnumbered all those he made elsewhere. 
 
 During his senior year he saw much of 
 Letitia, but in spite of a certain fascination 
 she exercised over those who knew her wisely 
 and not too well, his feeling for her warmed 
 to nothing more than an appreciative interest 
 in a hitherto unknown type of womankind, 
 and, to his chum, had he had one, he might 
 have confided that there was an intangible 
 something about the girl that made him 
 uneasy. 
 
 Two years after his graduation, he re- 
 visited his alma mater on some jubilee 
 occasion and there met Miss Phelps again. 
 The four years that had passed since their 
 first acquaintance had brought keen disap- 
 pointment to the woman. Younger, more 
 adaptable maidens were now installed in 
 her former seat of supremacy in the social 
 life of the university. The frantic intensities, 
 the spasmodic inconsistencies that had been 
 laughingly excused or overlooked in the 
 young girl, were pronounced silly and offen- 
 sive in the maturing woman. The scepter 
 she had once wielded so arrogantly had 
 fallen from her grasp. 
 
 It was a chastened and subdued Letitia 
 
 43
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 who pressed forward to congratulate Mr. 
 Patterson at the end of an oration that was 
 a fulfilment of what his youthful efforts 
 had promised, and with her flattery she 
 coupled so cordial an invitation to revisit 
 her home, that Bruce could hardly have 
 refused to be her guest even had he been so 
 inclined. He was glad of the opportunity 
 to renew his friendship with the Professor 
 and Mrs. Phelps, and was conscious of the 
 change in Letitia, of the partial obliteration 
 of the too heavily traced outlines of her 
 individuality that left her more companion- 
 able. It was as though a potent agency 
 had erased the assertive tints of her character, 
 or as if a screen had been drawn over a 
 garish light. 
 
 The Phelps dwelling was a temple of 
 restful lines and harmonious color, and its 
 outward satisfactoriness was supplemented 
 by hospitality as sincere, if not as insistent, 
 as that of his native mountains; and on 
 his return to this atmosphere of artistic 
 perception and deep reflection, after months 
 during which he had tried to squeeze himself 
 back into an outgrown environment, Bruce 
 naturally exaggerated its value and meaning 
 to him. Be that as it may, many of the 
 
 44
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 hours to which his brief stay in the university 
 town was limited were spent with the Phelps 
 family, and later on he joined them at a 
 seaside resort. 
 
 It would, perhaps, have been impossible 
 for him to have given any clear explanation 
 as to when and how the rumored engagement 
 between Letitia and himself became a fact. 
 His father's death during the previous year 
 had left the Hollywood home empty save 
 for himself and the presence there in her 
 vacation weeks of the girl cousin who had 
 been brought in her orphaned babyhood 
 to be one of "Uncle Hi's" household, and 
 a recollection of those untenanted, crude, 
 beauty-lacking rooms in contrast with the 
 comfort and fine finish of the Phelps menage 
 had, undoubtedly, its influence. He deemed 
 the tastes, habits and ambitions of this young 
 New England woman as more nearly akin 
 to his own than those of any one he could 
 hope to find nearer his home, and while 
 he recognized that his heart that is, the 
 heart the poets sing of, was quite untouched, 
 he was flattered by Letitia's avowed pref- 
 erence and happy in the companionship 
 of herself and her family. So he drifted 
 beyond the point where a return to former 
 
 45
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 conditions was possible, and the engagement 
 was announced. 
 
 On the woman's part, she had directed 
 her mysterious orbs upon her future, had 
 seen herself sinking into social nonentity 
 in her parents' home, and was ready to grasp 
 at the chance to escape from such a fate. 
 She was tremendously ambitious, and she 
 believed that under her guidance the Ken- 
 tuckian could win the place and prominence 
 she longed for. She appreciated his ability, 
 and sympathized with his desire to be a 
 factor in the movement for general uplift, 
 but she was resolved that his efforts should 
 not be confined to the sparsely settled, little- 
 known district that he called home. In 
 her selfish way she really loved the man, 
 and, as her knowledge of conditions in the 
 southern states had been mostly gleaned 
 from old-fashioned, out-of-date books and 
 stories, on her mental vision formed pleasing 
 tableaux of a large estate overrun by dark- 
 skinned servants, over whom she would 
 reign as queen during such seasons of each 
 year as it seemed wisest to spend down 
 there. In her heart there was the determina- 
 tion that after marriage Bruce should estab- 
 lish himself nearer the center of national 
 
 46
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 activities, where with least delay he could 
 rise to prominence and wealth. 
 
 Both husband and wife had wakened 
 from these pre-nuptial dreams to widely 
 different realities. Bruce had discovered the 
 lawless will that lurked back of his wife's 
 black brows; he had learned that below 
 the highly polished veneer of outward seem- 
 ing there were ugly scars of selfishness, 
 snobbery and jealousy. To Letitia the unpre- 
 tentious homestead in the Cumberlands, which 
 lacked most of the luxuries of the urban 
 dwelling and much, as well, that she had 
 grown to consider the necessities of decent 
 living, presented no compensations. The 
 local population, ignorant of the world beyond 
 their horizon, uncouth in manner, frankly 
 superstitious, unimaginative, yet "simple, 
 natural, honest, sane, earthy; and of the 
 earth, from which springs the oak, and in 
 time, maybe, the flower of civilization," 
 were each and all abhorrent to her. She 
 had been an ardent disciple of those who 
 preached and wrote of the "simple life," 
 but she was blind to the fact that here, at 
 her very door, were its genuine exponents. 
 
 Her design that her husband forsake his 
 birthplace for a northern home crystallized 
 
 47
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 into inflexibility. To no purpose did Bruce 
 repeat to her his father's wish and his own 
 intention; in vain did he essay to point to 
 her the need of a Joshua to lead these high- 
 landers from the wilderness of isolation and 
 illiteracy in which they had so long wandered. 
 Before the curl of Letitia's lip, under the 
 spell of her strange eyes, his lifelong aims 
 and ambitions took the semblance of quixot- 
 ism, of sheer folly. Like many another 
 misled soul, he classed self-abnegation as 
 unselfishness, and lost sight of the verity 
 that, at times, supreme unselfishness demands 
 an unyielding insistence of one's individuality, 
 its rights and purposes, and that all attempts 
 to juggle with the Eternal Scales bring 
 disaster sure and far reaching. 
 
 His opposition to his wife's demand that 
 he sell out the Hollywood mines, and so 
 break the material bond that held him to 
 this region, grew more and more feeble; 
 and, though, so far, she had not been able 
 to compel him to take any decisive step 
 toward the accomplishment of that end, 
 he had become conscious of his decreasing 
 ability to cope with her will, and, at times, 
 when alone, the realization of the degree 
 of control she exercised over his volition, 
 
 48
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 fairly appalled him. During the trial of 
 Tyree, ne had decided that this almost 
 involuntary action on his part should be 
 a turning back to the path that had been 
 mapped out for him in boyhood, and among 
 the thoughts that ran riot in his mind on his 
 homeward walk had been the resolution 
 that having now, once again, put his hand 
 to the plow, he would not be turned away 
 from following it. 
 
 He well knew what the announcement 
 of such a determination would bring down 
 upon him before his wife would be convinced 
 that it was irrevocable, but that she should 
 take any personal interest in the trial of Tyree 
 had been far from his mind. He was aware 
 of the attitude she assumed towards all the 
 mountain folk he had watched the erection 
 of the wall of miscomprehension and mutual 
 dislike that stood between her and his fellow 
 highlanders, but that Letitia would seize upon 
 the verdict as a new weapon with which 
 to combat the remaining scraps of his loyalty 
 to the place of his birth was an idea unguessed 
 by him. That she would wield it against 
 whatever might still prevent his entire deser- 
 tion of his native state, was a menace to his 
 resolve to henceforward be among those 
 
 49
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 who were working for long-needed reforms 
 in the observances of this region. Only 
 absolute physical exhaustion prevented him 
 from torturing himself with these thoughts 
 all through that night. 
 
 50
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 AUNT PHILOMEE, the colored cook, who 
 had been a feature in the Patterson kitchen 
 since, as a round-eyed pickaninny, she had 
 "toted" hot dishes from her mother's ovens 
 to the family table, mounted the stairs the 
 morning after the end of the Tyree trial, 
 holding a kettle of hot water with one hand, 
 and with the other a tray on which stood a 
 small coffee-pot and a cup and saucer. She 
 had carried these things to Bruce's bedside 
 each morning that he awoke in his own 
 home, since the day he had reached an age 
 that qualified him for the privilege of drinking 
 the stimulating beverage. 
 
 The stout old woman climbed slowly from 
 step to step, grunting and grumbling below 
 her breath all the way up. Aunt Philomee's 
 grievances always numbered legion, her special 
 cause of offense against an over-ruling prov- 
 idence now being the northern mistress, who 
 had been installed some two years previous in 
 the vacant chair of "po' Mis' Ann Mary," 
 Hiram Patterson's wife, who had passed away 
 when Bruce was a boy of twelve. 
 
 51
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Had Letitia been an angel and her most 
 besotted admirer had never claimed angelic 
 attributes for her Aunt Phil would still 
 have been a rebellious servant, as she, herself, 
 had practically presided over this home for 
 so many years. As matters stood, there 
 was incessant hostility and bickering between 
 the two. Unfortunately, Letitia over-esti- 
 mated her executive ability and was totally 
 lacking in a comprehension of the laboring 
 class. The older generation of negro servants 
 in the South, those who can still recall con- 
 ditions "befo* de wa'," are as unerring in 
 their judgment of those whom they are called 
 upon to serve as is a good horse in estimating 
 the capability of his driver. An animal 
 of intelligence knows intuitively whether the 
 person who holds the reins is an experienced 
 horseman or no; whether he is a man who 
 will seek to accomplish most with the least 
 strain on the muscles of his beast, or is but 
 a conceited ignoramus, sawing at the bit 
 and plying the whip, and by his senseless 
 action wasting the power he desires to put 
 to account, and forfeiting the confidence 
 of the animal. 
 
 The old negress accorded herself many 
 privileges, and this morning on Bearing no 
 
 52
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 response to her knock, she quietly turned 
 the door-knob and admitted nerself to her 
 master's room. After a short survey of 
 the sleeper on the bed, she set down her 
 tray and kettle, and gathered together and 
 began to examine the garments that Bruce 
 had dropped in a huddle the previous night. 
 
 "Um-huh," she wheezed as she shook 
 each garment out in turn. ** Reckon I gwine 
 hab a regla' ol' trampoose wif dese yere 
 clo'es. Don't want no little visito's from 
 dose Spencer House beds a-comin' to call 
 on ou's dat we don'. I 'spec' Toppy kin 
 fix up dis yere suit fo' Jum to wea'," and 
 she threw the trousers over her plump arm. 
 
 "Howdy, Aunt Phil," muttered a sleepy 
 voice from under the bedcovering; "what 
 are you doing with my clothing ?" 
 
 "Howdy, Marse Bruce! Fo' don' wan' 
 dem clo'es no mo'; dey ain' fitten fo' yo' 
 to wea'. I des reckonin' dat Toppy might 
 ai' an' wash 'em out good, an' mebbe conjuh 
 a coat out of 'em fo' little Pat next winteh. 
 Dat chile's a-growin' so fas' he'll be bustin' 
 out of he daddy's clo'es next thing we knows. 
 Law sakes!" with a sniff, "no chile ain' 
 gwine ketch no whoopin' cough, no' mumps, 
 no' measles if he once wea' dese yere clo'es, 
 
 53
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Smell like tobacco leafs been wove spang 
 into 'em. Cou'se, if yo' mean yo j want 
 'em," doubtfully, and with a contemptuous 
 toss. 
 
 "Why, come now, what's the matter with 
 that suit, Aunty? They are soiled and tum- 
 bled a trifle, but they are perfectly good 
 and whole. I will keep them to wear down 
 at the mines if you say they are not fine 
 enough for you up here. The men will 
 not object to the odor of good tobacco." 
 
 The old woman turned her great bulk 
 in his direction, disgust and feigned astonish- 
 ment in her mien. 
 
 "Yo' aimin' to wea* dose clo'es yo'se'f, 
 Marse Bruce Patt'son ?" she asked. " We- 
 ell! Times is suah 'nough changed since 
 yo' po' mothe's day. Mis' Ann Ma'y neveh 
 lowed he' boy to put on such a frazzled- 
 out, tacky suit as dat! No, Suh! Not in 
 de darkest cornde' ob de mines!" Then 
 seizing upon the opportunity offered for 
 further airing her woes, she went on : " Dar's 
 no countin' on what white folkses down 
 dis-a-way gwine do now-days; comin' an' 
 a-tu'nin' a 'spectable puhson, a membeh 
 of de fambly spang out-a she own home 
 to make room fo de lowdownest white 
 
 54
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 trash in de mountains. Yes, Suh!" working 
 her stout body up and down, her ire rising 
 with each word "I des wan* to know how 
 long she gwine to stay in dar dat's what 
 I wan' ask yo'. I didn't tell Mis' Patt'son 
 dat she can' do dat-a-way while yo' been 
 done gone, but now yo' back whar yo' b'longs, 
 I des asks yo' how long she gwine stay dar. 
 Ef I gwine be run outen de house Marse Hi 
 give me fo' a gif when I bin mah'ed, I'se 
 boun' to know hit now." 
 
 " Now, Aunt Philomee, that is all nonsense," 
 said Bruce, raising his head from the pillow 
 to face the angry woman. ;< You know 
 perfectly well that no one is going to ask 
 you to give up your home. There is plenty 
 of room there now that you do not use, and 
 it was natural to suppose that you would 
 be willing, that you would enjoy having 
 a little company now that you are alone 
 over there so much." 
 
 "Dat depen's on who de comp'ny is, 
 yes, suh," slightly mollified. "Hit's de lone- 
 somdes' kin' of lonesome to be 'bliged to 
 stay wif folkses yo' got no use fo'; an' I 
 mus' get mo' grace befo' I can stan' to lib 
 wif such a somebody as dat ar." 
 
 "But," remonstrated Bruce, who loved 
 
 55
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to tease her, and who knew that the old 
 woman made great pretensions of modelling 
 her conduct on Bible precepts, "you believe 
 in obeying what the Scriptures teach, and 
 they tell you to love the stranger and to be 
 given to hospitality, whereby many have 
 entertained angels unawares." 
 
 For a moment she made no reply, and 
 her great eyes rolled from side to side as if 
 looking for some opening. 
 
 "De Bible may say dat 'bout strangehs," 
 she said at last. ' Fo' says hit does I 
 ain' come to dat tex* vet. But I knows 
 hit says not to be a-castin' ou' peahls befo* 
 swine, an' de preache' 'splain to me dat 
 peahls means de bestest dat we got; an* if 
 a good, sweet razah-back ain' boun* to 
 'preciate ou' peahls sooneh dan dat-ar frowzy- 
 headed, slummicky, goddessalibe'ty " 
 
 "Come, Aunty! Don't be foolish," in- 
 terrupted Bruce. "I will try to see today 
 about getting some other place for Mrs. 
 Tyree to stay, if you do not want her with 
 you. She will probably go to her home 
 very soon, anyway. Take the suit with 
 you," as the old woman lingered. "I shall 
 not want it again I was only joking." 
 Then as she picked up the garments from 
 
 56
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 where she had thrown them, he added: 
 "Please take the tray, too. My head aches 
 so badly that I shall not drink the coffee 
 this morning." 
 
 In an instant the wrinkled, brown face 
 was bending over him. His pillows were 
 deftly slipped out, beaten and replaced, 
 the bedclothes were smoothed and straightened 
 and at one window, through which the sun 
 was streaming, the shade was lowered. 
 
 "Dar, now, honey," crooned Aunt Phil, 
 giving a final pat to the pillows before leaving 
 the room. * Don' yo' be a-worritin' yo' 
 haid oveh de ca'in's on down dis-a-way. 
 Dey-all boun' fetch up all right in de end 
 I'll see to dat. Yo' jes shut yore eyes an' 
 go to sleep 'gain, an' yo' old Aunt Phil '11 
 go down and fix up a mixtery dat'll sea* ol' 
 Mistah Haidache clean out de windows when 
 yo' wakes up 'gain." 
 
 The door closed on the heavy figure with 
 its burden of discarded clothing and food, 
 and Bruce buried his face and lay quite 
 still for a few moments, hoping that sleep 
 would revisit him. As he had said, his head 
 was hot and his eyeballs ached but mind 
 and memory were again on the alert and 
 insisted on holding the record of recent 
 
 57
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 events before him. Again a swarm of those 
 tormenting doubts and misgivings lighted 
 upon him, and as he could not escape them 
 by means of slumber, he rose, dressed himself 
 and started down the stairs. 
 
 In the dog-trot sat Letitia, some sewing 
 in her hands, and facing her sat a plump, 
 dark-eyed young woman, who would have 
 been regally handsome if she had practiced 
 even the most rudimentary methods of caring 
 for her hair, her skin and her teeth. In 
 this figure, Bruce recognized Aunt Philomee's 
 "slummicky goddess," and had to smile 
 to himself at the apt description. The young 
 woman sprawled lazily across one of the 
 porch chairs, holding in her wide lap a kick- 
 ing, gurgling infant. 
 
 As Bruce stepped into sight, Letitia rose 
 and said to her companion: "This is Mr. 
 Patterson, Mrs. Tyree. He may have some- 
 thing more to tell you," and then withdrew. 
 
 The mountain woman looked up at Bruce 
 with a friendly smile, her equanimity unruf- 
 fled by the presence of one of those who 
 had condemned her husband, but she said 
 nothing. 
 
 "How do you do?" he was forced to ask, 
 "and how is baby?" and he put a finger 
 
 58
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 under the chin of the wriggling infant, a 
 liberty that it immediately resented by splut- 
 tering and crying. The mother complacently 
 shook out its garments, turned it over and 
 patted its back. 
 
 "Hit's the mos' contrairy chile that ever 
 was borned," she said with a touch of pride. 
 Then she raised the small face near her own 
 and stared into the tear-dimmed eyes, and 
 repeated slowly: :< Yo' air! Yo' 're the 
 mos' contrairy chile that ever come anigh 
 the mountains." 
 
 Bruce stood hesitant before this mother 
 and child, uncertain what to say or do. 
 Did this wife understand the verdict that 
 had been rendered against her husband 
 and its consequence ? Did she wish to return 
 with the children to her home far back from 
 the river settlements? What could one say 
 to a woman circumstanced as this one was, 
 who laughed and played with her baby, 
 apparently carefree? 
 
 'You have another child, I believe, Mrs. 
 Tyree," he ventured at last " a boy. Where 
 is he?" 
 
 "Ho, Noc ain't nary chile of mine," she 
 answered in her low drawl. " He's his pappy 's 
 boy; his Maw died powerful nigh three 
 
 59
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 years ago." 
 
 " Noc, did you call him ?" 
 
 "Enoch is his given name," she replied, 
 "but I 'low that was a mite too long for 
 ever-day, so call him Noc. He'll be round 
 directly. Heh, you Noc! Yo' come here." 
 At her call, a little, tow-headed urchin of 
 about seven years peered around one of 
 the pillars of the porch and then drew back. 
 
 "Yo' come on out here an' take Ula Bell," 
 commanded the stepmother, turning with 
 a mischievous smile to Bruce. 
 
 At this second summons, the tow-head ap- 
 peared once more, followed cautiously by a 
 short figure clad in a faded shirt from which all 
 the buttons had been torn, and trousers 
 that had been made over from the nether 
 garments of a full-sized man by the simple 
 method of cutting off most of the legs. Bare, 
 brown feet pattered across the floor and 
 thin arms were extended for the heavy baby. 
 
 Bruce interfered. "Come and talk with 
 me a minute, Noc," he said pleasantly, 
 and as the young wistful face drew nearer 
 and the frigntened eyes shyly met his own, 
 he said: "I wonder if there's a boy around 
 here anywhere who would be willing to go 
 down to the mine with me? Do you think 
 
 60
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 I could find any such boy ?" 
 
 Ten small, sunburned toes wiggled de- 
 lightedly, and the boy's glance toward his 
 stepmother was full of pleading. 
 
 I reckon yo' kin go if yo' want to, Noc," 
 she said good-naturedly. "Ula Bell will be 
 a-sleepin'. Hit had ought to sleep right 
 smart to-day hit didn't sleep nary mite 
 las' night. Hit's the mos' contrairy chile 
 in the mountains," kissing one of the fat 
 feet that were kicking about in her lap, 
 "that's what hit sure is. Yo' go fin* yore 
 hat, Noc." 
 
 Just then Aunt Philomee came to the dining- 
 room door and with the immense dignity 
 of which she was capable announced : " Yore 
 breakfas' is ready fo' yo', Mistah Patt'son, 
 an' yo' betteh come in and eat hit an' let 
 otheh folkses wait on yo'," and then disap- 
 peared without so much as a look towards 
 the other occupants of the dog-trot. 
 
 Mrs. Tyree, whose name was Zulemmy, 
 looked at Bruce and laughed merrily. 
 
 "Aunt Phil hates me pison bad," she said. 
 "I don' know howcome I've done her ary 
 spite. She kin stay in her home if she wants 
 to there's a powerful sight of room over 
 thar that I can't use." 
 
 61
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "I will see today what can be done about 
 another place for you to stay in," said Bruce 
 hurriedly, resenting the touch of coquetry 
 in the woman's manner. "Or, perhaps, you 
 would prefer to return to your home at once." 
 
 "No, I ain't in no such hurry to go," 
 she drawled. "Mis' Patterson 'lowed we'd 
 sew up some clothes for Ula Bell an' me 
 while I'm over here. If Jud ain't never 
 a-goin' to git out, I don' know as I'm keen 
 to go away back yander." 
 
 " Well, we must think what is best to be 
 done," answered Bruce with haste as Aunt 
 Philomee again appeared in the doorway. 
 " Tell Noc to wait here for me I will not be 
 long," and he turned into the dining-room. 
 
 When he came out again, Letitia had 
 returned to her seat on the porch and was 
 slipping something white over the head of 
 the limp infant, which the mother tried to 
 hold upright, but she neither looked at nor 
 spoke to her husband, and he found his mind 
 bereft of any words for her. As he stood, 
 tongue-tied, a colored boy drove a heavily 
 built open buggy, with great brakes attached 
 to its front wheels, up to the steps, and little 
 Noc came running across the yard with a 
 tattered straw hat on his head. Meeting 
 
 62
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Bruce at the steps he slipped his grimy 
 fingers into the large palm extended to him, 
 and raised confident, expectant eyes. 
 
 "Air we a-goin' to fin' my Pap?" he asked. 
 "I'm plumb keen to see him. Say, air 
 we a-goin' to fin' him now? That lady," 
 motioning to Letitia, " said yes-day she 'lowed 
 I'd sure see my Pap today if I was a good 
 boy, an' I was good." 
 
 'No, Noc," said Bruce gently, resisting 
 the impulse to drop the small fingers that 
 were clinging to his. "You are going to 
 drive me down to the mines I must go 
 down there this morning." 
 
 "An' an' kin I hoi' the lines myse'f 
 all by myse'f?" asked the child eagerly 
 as he sprang into the vehicle. 
 
 Bruce nodded. "Part of the time, any- 
 way," he said. 
 
 "Oh," called the excited youngster to 
 the two women on the porch, every other 
 thought banished, "I'm a-goin' to hoi' the 
 lines myse'f, I'm a-goin' to drive 'ithout 
 nary help. He, 9 ' pointing to Bruce who 
 had climbed to the seat beside the boy, 
 " he is a-goin' to leave me drive all alone." 
 
 Letitia did not look up from her work, 
 but Bruce saw her lip curl. He placed 
 
 63
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the boy where he could be most easily held 
 on to the seat in the precipitous descents 
 of the mountain road. Just as all was 
 ready for a start, Letitia rose and came 
 to the edge of the porch. Her manner 
 expressed displeasure and her tone was icy. 
 
 'If it will not be troubling you too mucn, 
 Bruce, I would like to learn if that cottage 
 at the corner of the Treadway place is occupied 
 at present. Can you stop and see John 
 Treadway when in the village, and tell him 
 that if no one is living there, I would like 
 to rent it for a few weeks at least." 
 
 "I will ask him," answered Bruce, and as 
 his wife was about to turn back, he said 
 in a lowered voice: "Does Mrs. Tyree 
 mean to visit her husband today? They 
 may take him to Frankfort any time now. 
 They never leave a condemned man in this 
 jail long." 
 
 "Perhaps he will not be taken away as 
 soon as you suppose," was Letitia's reply, 
 and her eyes were dark with the inscrutable 
 expression that her husband had learned 
 to interpret as a sign that further questions 
 would be useless. 
 
 64
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WHILE driving down the steep, rough 
 road, Bruce's attention was engrossed by 
 the antics of the young horse, that, it was 
 evident, had lacked exercise during its owner's 
 absence from home. One eye had also to 
 be kept on Noc, whose short legs hung far 
 above the floor of the vehicle, and who 
 threatened at each sharp turn of the road 
 to pitch over the dashboard. He persisted 
 in leaning forward as far as his back would 
 permit, in order to keep his hands further 
 along on the reins than the muscular ringers 
 that were guiding the movements of the 
 skittish animal. 
 
 At the Patterson mines the superintendent 
 had allowed many matters of importance 
 to accumulate for discussion with the owner, 
 and it was not until the buggy had reached 
 the comparative level of the road as it neared 
 the village that Bruce had any opportunity 
 to ponder over his wife's request. He could 
 see that it was Letitia's purpose to keep 
 Mrs. Tyree and her children in the neighbor- 
 hood, and, to his mind, such a course seemed 
 needless. 
 
 65
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 He felt as if it must not be, as if he could 
 not endure the continued presence of this 
 small family whom his decision had rendered 
 fatherless. The unnaturalness of the situa- 
 tion troubled him, as Noc's tongue, loosed 
 from the paralysis of "getting acquainted," 
 wagged merrily and unceasingly. He won- 
 dered whether there was any case on 
 record that paralleled his present position. 
 What if in after years, this lad, now chatter- 
 ing so happily by his side, should call him 
 to account for his responsibility in Judson 
 Tyree's conviction? Doubts again began to 
 crowd each other in his mind. What if he 
 had misweighed the incomplete chain of 
 circumstance that was all the proof of this 
 prisoner's guilt? What if his judgment had 
 been biased by his intense desire that crime 
 should no longer be committed with impunity 
 and go unpunished in these mountains ? What 
 if Letitia, in one of her frenzies of devotion 
 to those whom she deemed wronged or 
 oppressed, had gleaned from Tyree s wife 
 facts unknown to any one besides ? 
 
 Bruce tried to shake off these fears as he 
 drove over the bridge, the same that he 
 had crossed so buoyantly on foot the previous 
 night, and then on to the small shop in which 
 
 66
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 John Treadway kept his stock of miscel- 
 laneous merchandise. John, a man of over 
 fifty years of age, tall and brawny, with the 
 slouching, loose-jointed body of the laboring 
 man of tropical climes, came out of the door 
 as the buggy drove up, leaving a gap in the 
 circle of tobacco-chewing men, who, with 
 chairs tilted back against the high counters, 
 were gossiping together while they waited 
 for the distribution of the daily mail in the 
 tiny post-office further down the road. After 
 Bruce had asked his question, the store- 
 keeper stood with one hand resting on the 
 dashboard, while chewing an enormous quid 
 and ruminating heavily. It was as though 
 a matter requiring the most careful thought 
 had been propounded to him. At last he 
 looked up and said : 
 
 " We-el, I 'low yo' mought have hit, Bruce. 
 Thar ain't nobody in hit that's got ary right 
 to be thar. I aim to let Bill live in hit when 
 he gits married, but seems like the gals 
 round here 'bouts ain't good enough for 
 him no more. Since he come back from 
 a-soldierin' in the Phillipynes seems like 
 he can't stiddy down no-way. 'Low yo' 
 better talk to Gran'pap bouten that little 
 house. Yes, hit's mine according to law," 
 
 67
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 in answer to an unspoken question, "but 
 he stays out thar to home all the time now, 
 an' he likes to have folks treat him like he 
 was still boss. An', then, he moughtn't 
 want no more young ones round thar's 
 right smart of 'em a-belongin' to the Treadway 
 kin, yo' know. Did yo say Mis' Tyree'd 
 got two? I use't know Zulemmy that spell 
 she lived over to Dave Carroll's. Don't 
 seem as if that was more'n a year or so back. 
 That one of her children?" pointing to Noc 
 in bewilderment. 
 
 Bruce explained the relationship existing 
 between the boy and Tyree's wife. Treadway 
 nodded as he continued : 
 
 "So 'ts Jud Tyree's first wife's child, eh? 
 Yes, that's right. She was Jerindy Touchout, 
 one of the Touchout's from Miller Creek 
 way, an' she died quite a spell back. We-el, 
 yo' see Gran'pap, an' if he ain't got no objec- 
 tion to lettin' that little house, I won't make 
 none. The well over thar ain't been cleaned 
 out for a powerful long spell, but I 'low 
 Zulemmy km tote water from our spring." 
 
 The man shuffled slowly back to his shop 
 as Bruce drove on to a more shaded spot 
 to wait for the mail. While he waited, an 
 elderly woman, neatly dressed and with 
 
 68
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 an erect carriage, came down the footpath 
 and when she reached the buggy turned 
 and held out her hand. 
 
 "Bruce Patterson!" she exclaimed cordially. 
 " It does one good to see you about once more. 
 Where have you been lately? And who is 
 the little man you have up there with you ?" 
 
 "This is Enoch Tyree, Mrs. Pritchett," 
 answered Bruce, ignoring her query in regard 
 to himself. "Noc and his mother have 
 been staying with Aunt Philomee for a few 
 days, but they expect to move out to the 
 corner cabin on the Treadway farm very 
 soon," he added quickly, fearing from the 
 lady's exclamation and her close scrutiny 
 of the child that she might make some remark 
 that would wound the boy's sensibilities, 
 or lead to a renewal of the request that he 
 might " see my Pap." 
 
 "Into Bill's house?" asked the lady. 
 ' They say it is to be Bill's when he marries." 
 
 "I wish he would marry some good, indus- 
 trious girl," replied Mrs. Pritchett, who, for 
 some reason, wished to ignore the one topic 
 with which the air of the village was rife 
 the verdict in the Tyree trial. " David esteems 
 Bill very highly has made him foreman, 
 or something else, at the mill, and contends 
 
 69
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 that he has got lots of good stuff in him. 
 But he has one bad habit that marrying 
 might not cure it isn't apt to. You had 
 your experience with that before he was 
 discharged from your mines. And when 
 he is drinking he is reasonless absolutely 
 devoid of reasoning power. And you say 
 this is Tyree's son?" trying to speak indif- 
 ferently and with a slight gesture towards 
 the jail that was within sight. "Then he 
 must be Zulemmy's stepson. Zulemmv 
 worked for us once for a while, maybe it 
 was while you were away. Zulemmy wasn't 
 too overly fond of work in those days," with 
 a dry chuckle. Then in a changed tone she 
 leaned forward and said: 
 
 "I must tell you that your verdict took 
 my breath away.' 
 
 "Don't you think it just?" demanded 
 Bruce. 
 
 She made no reply, and he changed the 
 subject by asking: "How is David ?" 
 
 " David ? How is David? Busy. Morn- 
 ing, noon and night and next day, too busy. 
 I ask him at times if he thinks he's leaving 
 enough work to go round among the other 
 folks. And he's so full of his ambitions. 
 Plans to have the best equipped saw-mill 
 
 70
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and the finest set of operatives in the land. 
 Keeps me hemming curtains for his club- 
 house windows and covering books for his 
 club-house shelves, and what-not. Oh, it's 
 very well to have some ambition, but a man 
 can have too much of any good thing." 
 
 " I don't know that I agree with you there," 
 said Bruce. "Ambition is a splendid quality 
 for any young man to possess. You remem- 
 ber Emerson s advice about hitching your 
 wagon to a star ?" 
 
 ' Yes, that's Emerson," retorted the lady 
 with some asperity. "I guess Ralph W. 
 didn't take time to calculate what uncom- 
 fortable travelling that would make for any 
 one obliged to sit alongside of the driver. ' 
 Bruce laughed and a moment later Mrs. 
 Pritchett exclaimed: "There! They are 
 starting out of the office at last, so I suppose 
 Miss Julia has got the mail distributed. 
 What does take so many men there every 
 day? No letters were ever known to come 
 for them, and many of them couldn't read 
 a letter if it did come." 
 
 "One way of passing the time," answered 
 Bruce, looking at the groups that were saunter- 
 ing listlessly along the path. "You cannot 
 complain that they are too ambitious." 
 
 71
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "Contentment is easier to dwell with 
 than ambition," mis-quoted Mrs. Pritchett 
 wilfully, and she turned to go on. 
 
 "Come out and see us, you and David," 
 urged Bruce, as she moved away. "You 
 have not been out for a long while, and we 
 are always mighty glad to see you." 
 
 "Are you?" asked Mrs. Pritchett under 
 her breath as she walked on. "Your lady- 
 wife can't endure the sight of me, and I 
 will say once for all that I ain't too shocking 
 fond of her. And there's Mary Joyce and 
 David had some kind of a falling-out, just 
 after they seemed to be falling-m so un- 
 mistakably last fall before she went off to 
 Frankfort. You're all right, Bruce P., if 
 only you wasn't so willing to let Letishy wear 
 the breeches. But take things by and large, 
 if you want to see me so terrible bad, I guess 
 you'll have to come where I am." 
 
 Among the last to leave the post-office 
 door was a smooth-faced stripling, who hurried 
 to the side of the buggy and handed Bruce 
 a package of letters and papers. 
 
 "Kind-a 'lowed yo' wouldn't be keen 
 to leave yore horse an' that kid to play tag 
 with each other," he said with a grin; "so 
 I taken yore mail from Miss Jule an' tole
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her I'd give it to yo'safe." 
 
 "That was very kind of you, Price," 
 answered Mr. Patterson, as he took the 
 bundle and stored it away. "My horse is 
 more nervous than usual this morning 
 has not been exercised enough lately." Then, 
 as the awkward young fellow kept his place 
 beside the wheel of the buggy, Bruce asked 
 carelessly: "How is everything? Any 
 news ?" 
 
 "Thar ain't nary news round this-a-way 
 'ceptin' what yo' had a hand in over yon," 
 with a gesture towards the courthouse. 
 "Reckon yo' honestly 'lowed 't Jud shot 
 that officer, I reckon yo' did," with no 
 suspicion that his words might be offensive, 
 " but hit seems like matters wasn't goin' to be 
 holped nary might by turning round an' 
 killm' him. The boys in the post-office was 
 a-sayin' that thar was talk of a re-trial, or 
 somethin.' Yo' know they telegraphed bouten 
 hit to Frankfort this mornin* ?" 
 
 "No," said Bruce with some surprise, 
 "I had not heard of it," and nodding to the 
 youth, whose evident purpose it was to repeat 
 every detail of the sending of the message 
 to the Capitol, he started the restless horse 
 towards home. All the way out little Noc's 
 
 73
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 tongue ran glibly, but his companion was 
 unconscious of the childish prattle. His 
 thoughts were wandering afar. A foreboding 
 of coming ill clutched his heart; he was 
 amazed and angry to find that so far as he 
 had gathered it, the consensus of public 
 opinion was against the verdict rendered. 
 
 When Letitia Patterson went in to supper 
 that night, she heard her husband and his 
 cousin-ward, Joyce, talking and laughing 
 together. Bruce had repeated his short chat 
 with Mrs. Pritchett, and Joyce, with girlish 
 skill, was parrying his pointed queries in 
 regard to David Carroll. The mistress of 
 the house took her seat in silence and remained 
 with tensely drawn lips and angry eyes 
 until the echoes of their mirth had died away. 
 After several abortive attempts to include 
 his wife in the desultory conversation that 
 followed, Bruce addressed himself to Aunt 
 Philomee, who waddled back and forth with 
 relays of hot waffles, a duty she always 
 took it upon herself to perform whether 
 because it was a more agreeable task to fetch 
 and carry than to stand over the hot stove 
 and bake the delicious batter she had mixed, 
 or because of her joy in witnessing the apprecia- 
 tion her cookery was sure to receive, would 
 
 74
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 be difficult to decide. 
 
 "I think you may plan to let Toppy and 
 Jum have the use or their own bed after 
 a night or two, Aunt Phil," he said. "I 
 will ride out to the Treadway's tomorrow 
 and see whether Bill's cabin is in livable 
 shape or not, and you can tote your traps 
 and calamities back where they belong as 
 soon as you choose." 
 
 The white-haired negress stood with her 
 hands spread over her wide hips, her body 
 almost tilling the door-frame. "I reckon I 
 ain' gwine tote back no such c'lamity as done 
 been dar since I lef," she chuckled. 
 
 "Will you go with me and look the place 
 over, Letitia, ' suggested Bruce later on, 
 when he saw his wife sealing one of her 
 interminable letters. "It is a mere matter 
 of courtesy for me to go and talk to old 
 Mr. Tread way, but John made a point of 
 it, and you could look into the building 
 and decide what is needed there." 
 
 " No," answered she indifferently. " It prob- 
 ably will do well enough." 
 
 Bruce was puzzled. He had not yet 
 learned to anticipate these rapid changes 
 in his wife's moods. He did not discern 
 that the reason for her decreased enthusiasm 
 
 75
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 over the housing of her proteges was that 
 her will in the matter was undisputed. 
 
 "I thought it was your wish that Mrs. 
 Tyree should move up there for the time 
 being," he said with some hesitation. 
 
 " My wish," she echoed scornfully. " What 
 weight have my wishes against Aunt Philo- 
 mee's whims ?" She rose and walked away 
 a few steps and then returned. 
 
 "You may not know that Tyree's attorney 
 is working for a new trial. I sent him word 
 this morning that I had learned certain facts 
 in my talks with Zulemmy that led me to 
 believe a new trial would be justified. All 
 the testimony against the prisoner was purely 
 circumstantial, and it was no difficult matter 
 for an expert in phrases to twist and pervert 
 the admissions of the witnesses and dress 
 them up to look like conclusive proof to the 
 ignorant, slow-witted mountaineers who were 
 his co-iurors." 
 
 At this palpable insult, Bruce grew white. 
 
 "What object could possibly be attained 
 by a false conviction of this prisoner?" he 
 demanded, facing her squarely and with a 
 look in his eyes before which her own fell. 
 
 " How can I tell what weight such an action 
 would have with the powers that be?" she 
 
 76
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 retorted. "I have had no training as a 
 reformer, nor am I seeking political advance- 
 ment. You surely know what end you had 
 
 in view." 
 
 77
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 PERHAPS the best known, and least under- 
 stood woman living in that section of the 
 Corncracker state was Mrs. E-Nora Pritchett, 
 as she invariably signed her name. To a 
 discerning mind this odd signature was an 
 index of marked individuality, of the broadest 
 independence of action and a tremendous 
 fondness for aiming a painless shot now 
 and again at the fads of her contemporaries. 
 
 In these days the use of the hyphen in 
 the surname is not uncommon among one 
 class of Americans, and where its object is 
 to safeguard the identity of one of the Jones, 
 Smith or Miller family, the practice is pardon- 
 able. "Parting the name in the middle" 
 is no longer deemed an unmistakable symptom 
 of effeminacy, vet, among those of the older, 
 more conservative generation, the patronymic, 
 preceded in order by such names as given 
 a child by the "sponsors in baptism" of 
 the orthodox, cannot be improved by any 
 wilful mutilation. Mrs. Pritchett kept fully 
 abreast of the tendencies of the times, and 
 as she had never given any explanation of 
 
 78
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her adoption of the queerly placed hyphen 
 at the time of her widowhood, it may be 
 assumed that this was one of the harmless 
 whimsies through which she enlivened her 
 no longer eventful existence. 
 
 Her youth had been spent with her father 
 and brothers among the pine woods of north- 
 ern Michigan. She had been a healthy, 
 strong, rollicking girl, fond of sport, and a 
 prime favorite in her father's logging camps; 
 the lumbermen, however, regarding her more 
 as a jolly comrade than as a potential sweet- 
 heart. Much later in life than was customary 
 with the maidens of that region, she had 
 married, her choice falling upon a mining 
 expert who had been sent to investigate 
 the mineral possibility of that section, and 
 who was often heard to affirm that his home 
 was wherever he hung his hat. The life 
 of the two after marriage had been one of 
 constant change and adventure, as the hat 
 had hung for periods of varying length under 
 the skies of Australia, among Siberian snows, 
 on the volcanic slopes of South America 
 and the kopjes of Africa. In the last-named 
 country, the wearer of the nomadic head- 
 covering had succumbed to the coast fever, 
 leaving his wife, who had dauntlessly followed 
 
 79
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her husband in all his wanderings, with but 
 scant resources, to make her way back to 
 her native land. She finally arrived in the 
 mountains of eastern Kentucky, where one 
 of her brothers had established a lumber 
 business and where, his wife having passed 
 away a year previous, he and his only child, 
 a boy in his early teens, were rejoiced to wel- 
 come the big-hearted relative who at once 
 began to restore order to their chaotic dwelling. 
 Mrs. E-Nora was a woman whose affections 
 centered on but few but were inexhaustible 
 for those few, and her delight at being once 
 more domiciled with those of her own blood 
 was so intense as to verge on pathos. Of 
 her personal history during her long years 
 of wandering she seldom spoke, but those 
 same years and wanderings had furnished 
 her with a never failing fund of stories and 
 anecdotes on which she was wont to draw 
 in lieu of the small-talk and gossip of the 
 social world. There were occasions when 
 her stories, related with the naivete and 
 guilelessness of a child, would sound ab- 
 solutely inappropriate to the topic under dis- 
 cussion, but not infrequently some ridiculous 
 tale would recur later on to the minds of 
 auditors who had impatiently listened to 
 
 80
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 its recital, charged with a pertinence that 
 was disconcerting. 
 
 To renew old habits in a country where, 
 she affirmed, "folks lived," after her years 
 of sojourn among savages and semi-bar- 
 barians, was to her a reason for fervent 
 thanksgiving. She loved to take her sewing 
 and sit on the river bank and watch the logs 
 roll down the steep clearing on the opposite 
 mountain; to tramp out and inspect the 
 construction of a "splash," as the mountain 
 woodmen term a contrivance for floating 
 the cut timber down the creeks and shallower 
 streams. She was a good walker and pre- 
 ferred her own feet to any other form of 
 locomotion, especially among these perpen- 
 dicular cliffs and ravines, where a horse's 
 back becomes an animated "teeter," as upset- 
 ting to one's nerves and internal economy 
 as the gait of a camel, and a drive over 
 the narrow, washed-out roads, where experience 
 in the use of the brake is as essential as 
 strength and dexterity with the reins, was, 
 she declared, torture to which she only felt 
 bound to submit in cases of the most urgent 
 necessity. 
 
 For many months after she joined her 
 brother, she found some excuse lor visiting 
 
 81
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the saw-mill every day, and would stand 
 for moments listening to the screech of the 
 gang-saws as they tore through the hewn 
 
 fiants of the forest. "I never knew that 
 'd been so homesick for the smell of wet 
 sawdust," she exclaimed to her brother once 
 as they passed through the lumber-yard to- 
 gether, and with the words, she caught up 
 a handful of the pungent refuse and held 
 it to her nose. 
 
 Her tremendous activity for a long time 
 found its most fruitful outlet in efforts to 
 rid the Carroll home from the numerous 
 forms of insect life with which most of the 
 buildings of that locality are infested. Screens 
 were fitted to all doors and windows, and 
 in addition to these barriers, long fringes 
 of paper were tacked to the cross panels 
 of each outer door fringes that, set all 
 a-flutter by every entrance or exit, discouraged 
 the vain hopes of such flies as were lurking 
 near, watching for a chance to slip in. 
 The fleas that had been multiplying in the 
 sand of the cellar since the erection of the 
 dwelling were now routed by applications 
 of fresh lime; the legions of chiggers and 
 wood-ticks in the coarse, tangled grass of 
 the door-yard were banished by semi-weekly 
 
 82
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 mowing and floods of soapsuds, with an 
 occasional mixture of paris green. 
 
 With this wholesale insecticide Carroll pere 
 did not interfere, and Carroll fils was a lively 
 aide. The former gave his sister a freehand 
 and unquestioned authority in all matters 
 domestic save one he insisted firmly that 
 a person be hired to perform the more menial 
 drudgery of housekeeping and when Mrs. 
 E-Nora was convinced that her brother could 
 neither be cajoled nor joked into changing 
 this decree, she very wisely submitted to 
 the letter of the law and evaded its spirit 
 as far as she dared. Many were the after- 
 noons and the whole days "out" that fell 
 to the lot of whichsoever of the mountain 
 girls happened to be "a-livin* to Carroll's," 
 and on these holidays for the maid, the mistress 
 would repair to the kitchen and scrub and 
 scour until within an hour of the home-coming 
 from the mill. Then she would cook a meal 
 of such perfection that it was not in the 
 heart of the man to whom it was served to 
 make any critical comment on the repeated 
 absences of the housemaid. 
 
 On first acquaintance, the Cumberland 
 mountaineers were devoid of much attraction 
 for this cosmopolitan. It took time for Mrs. 
 
 83
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Pritchett to overcome her instinctive antago- 
 nism to such lack of all ambition, such frank 
 superstition, such neglect of the personal 
 habits of civilized human beings as prevail 
 among the poorer, the more degraded inhabit- 
 ants of these unfrequented heights. Longer 
 stay and a truer knowledge led her to estimate 
 their characteristics by different standards, 
 to weigh their virtues and their faults on 
 scales of finer adjustment. She found her- 
 self at length unconsciously framing arguments 
 in favor of a mode of living that hails with 
 thankfulness the good brought by each day, 
 untroubled by worriment for the morrow; 
 that keeps the inside of the bowl and the 
 platter the heart and mind of the man- 
 pure and clean, to whatever extent external 
 niceties may be neglected. 
 
 "I guess that word next in the old saying 
 means next after, and not next before godliness, 
 as some folks make out," she admitted to her 
 brother one day and who shall dare claim 
 to have attained to godlike-ness? On their 
 part, the mountain people, for a time awe- 
 stricken and abashed by the vigor and cease- 
 less activity of the newcomer, were steadily 
 won to friendliness by her bountiful good- 
 nature, by her love for and comprehension 
 
 84
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of their children, and by her skill and un- 
 selfish devotion to the feeole and the ailing. 
 
 One of the first conquests made by this 
 new mistress of the Carroll home was that 
 of a little girl of eight, or thereabouts, who, 
 one afternoon when Mrs. Pritchett was work- 
 ing among the flowers that had sprung up 
 under her care of the garden like magic, 
 rode up to the fence, perched on a pony, 
 whose back also bore the weight of a darky 
 child somewhat older, and called out with 
 a winning smile : 
 
 "Howdy! Will you please give me a 
 flowe'?" ' 
 
 Before Mrs. Pritchett could reply, the 
 youthful representative of the African race, 
 who evidently acted as chaperone to her 
 companion, remonstrated : " Now, Miss Ma'y 
 Joyce, wha' fo' yo' done ask dat? We des 
 got slathe's o' flowe's to ou' own house. Yo' 
 Uncle Hi ain' gwine like fo' yo' to be beggin' 
 strange's fo' no flowe's dat he ain'." 
 
 "But we haven't got any half so pretty 
 as hers, and I want one of hers," pouted 
 little Miss Ma'y Joyce. "An' I did say 
 please, Toppy; su' as you bawn I did." 
 
 "You asked very prettily," said Mrs. 
 Pritchett from her side of the fence, " and 
 
 85
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 I know all my flowers would be glad to go 
 with you I don't see how I am to choose. 
 Perhaps if you came in and picked some 
 yourself and spoke a word or two to those 
 you leave behind they would not be so disap- 
 pointed and jealous.' 
 
 The child slipped to the ground and hurried 
 through the gate, while her dusky guardian 
 kept her seat on the pony's back, and strove 
 by sitting very erect and holding the bridle 
 short and tight, to prevent that petted beast 
 from nibbling the grass by the roadside. 
 
 " Do you think the flowe's really care what 
 happens to them? Do you believe they 
 know about things?" questioned the small 
 maiden flitting about among the rows of 
 brilliant annuals with a sniff now and again 
 at a fragrant blossom and a gentle touch 
 for a frail one. 
 
 "I would dearly love to take all of you," 
 she whispered, "but that would leave the 
 lady too lonesome. Maybe she will let me 
 come and see you again some day. Oh, 
 which shall I take?" turning a wistful face 
 to Mrs. Pritchett, who followed her small 
 visitor about. 
 
 "I believe," slowly, "I will take some 
 of these" pointing at a tangle of pink sweet 
 
 86
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 peas, "they smell so good; and, may I have 
 one of those" indicating the rosettes on the 
 tall stalks of a yellow dahlia, "for Toppy? 
 If you can spare so many. I did not know 
 that any grown-up folks believed that flowe's 
 were like fairies," as her hostess broke the 
 stems of the chosen blossoms and laid them 
 in the warm little palm. 
 
 "Why they are fairies, of course they are," 
 responded Mrs. Pritchett. "See all me dear 
 little faces looking up from that pansy bed; 
 and the sweet peas are butterflies that have 
 lighted on the vines and are under a spell 
 so that they can't fly away." 
 
 "O-oh! Like everything in the Sleeping 
 Beauty's garden," gasped the child in delight. 
 
 "And how do you suppose the four o'clocks 
 know when it is time for them to unfold, 
 or the morning-glories when their bedtime 
 comes? Eh?" 
 
 "O-oh!" gasped the child again, fixing her 
 bright eyes on the speaker's face. " You 
 don't think it's all just play pretend, do you ? 
 How nice you are!" stretching up a pair 
 of short arms "I want to give you a kiss." 
 
 After the lady had stooped down and a 
 warm embrace had been given, the child 
 prattled on: "And will you let me will 
 
 87
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 you mind if I come some other day to see 
 you and your flowe's? We haven't got any 
 half so pretty, no' half so many at ou' house. 
 Toppy was just putting on her airs." 
 
 Where is your house?" asked Mrs. 
 Pritchett, who had been slow in investigating 
 the locality. 
 
 "My house?" and the hazel eyes opened 
 wide. "Why, I live with my uncle Hi 
 Uncle Hi and Cousin Bruce when Cousin 
 Bruce is home from college. I s'posed eve'y- 
 body knew that. I've lived there eve' since 
 I was a teenty-tinty baby." 
 
 "But," responded Mrs. Pritchett with a 
 smile, "I don't know who Uncle Hi is, nor 
 Cousin Bruce, either." 
 
 " You don't know who my Uncle Hi is!" 
 exclaimed the child in great amazement. 
 "I thought eve'body knew him. Uncle Hi's 
 name is just the same as mine, and I'm Miss 
 Mary Joyce Patterson," the last with much 
 dignity. "And that's Toppy out on the 
 pony. I don't know whethe' she's got any 
 mo' name than just Toppy. When Cousin 
 Bruce is home he calls her Topknot Come- 
 down, but that's too funny for a name, isn't 
 it? The boy who lives here sometimes said 
 one day her name was Toppy Bottom. Is he 
 
 88
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 here now ?" 
 
 "Who? David? No, he is away at 
 school." 
 
 "Like Cousin Bruce." Then thoughtfully 
 "Does eve'body go away to school when 
 they get big? Will I go and will Toppy go 
 too?" 
 
 "You will probably go, and Toppy may," 
 replied her hostess, with a glance and smile 
 at the rigid figure on the pony's back. 
 
 "Maybe she's getting tired of waiting so 
 long. Uncle Hi says I must always have 
 con-sid-er-a-tion for Toppy's feelings. She 
 will be glad to get this flowe', anyhow, and 
 I thank you very much for your kindness," 
 the last with a quaint primness of enunciation 
 that the hearer guessed had been taught her 
 by the old uncle. 
 
 " If that boy were here now," looking back 
 at the house, "he could lift me up onto the 
 pony, couldn't he? But Toppy can get 
 down and boost me up. She can climb 
 up all by herse'f," proudly. 
 
 "Perhaps you will allow me to lift you up, 
 and then Toppy won't have to get down," 
 suggested Mrs. Pritchett, following the tiny 
 maid as she went out of the gate with her 
 handful of posies. 
 
 89
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "That would be very kind of you," with 
 a return to the old-fashioned courtesy of tone 
 and manner. " Uncle Hi says I must not for- 
 get what a heavy girl I have grown to be. 
 Maybe you couldn't lift me so high." 
 
 "I think I could manage it," laughed 
 the lady. "And will you say to Uncle Hi 
 that you have given an old lady a great deal 
 of pleasure by your visit, and that she hopes 
 you will come again very soon ?" 
 
 "What old lady?" asked the child naively, 
 glancing back into the garden. "Oh!" with 
 sudden comprehension "you mean you' own 
 se'f. But you ain't an old lady! I reckon 
 you're under the spell, too, and that you're 
 just a little girl like me underneath. Do 
 you like to be so tall, little girl and to wea' 
 such long dresses?" with a roguish twinkle 
 that set the dimple lurking near the left 
 corner of the small mouth dancing in and out. 
 
 "You are a witch," laughed the lady, 
 kissing the child as she lifted her to the seat 
 behind Toppy on the pony's back. 
 
 " See, Toppy, I brought this flowe' to you," 
 and a small arm reached round and held the 
 gorgeous dahlia to the dark hand grasping 
 the bridle. " Ain't she sweet ? She's a lovely 
 lady in her ball-gown, but she's under a spell. 
 
 90
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Eve'thing here is under a spell, Toppy, like 
 the things in the Sleeping Beauty's garden." 
 
 Miss Toppy relaxed the severity of her 
 mien sufficiently to take the flower, but she 
 looked at it doubtfully. Toppy 's imagina- 
 tion was not her strongest point, and after 
 a moment's inspection she said critically: 
 "But I don' see any haid. Wha' she haid?" 
 'Why, you silly, she's got a sca'f ove' her 
 head, like the pretty lady in the picture in 
 Cousin Bruce's room." 
 
 "I gwine put he' in my hai'," announced 
 Toppy stolidly, yet with brightening features, 
 and she suited the action to the word by 
 sticking the floral rosette among her thickets 
 of black kinks. 
 
 " O-oh ! She looks so be-yu-ti-ful up there," 
 said Mary Joyce with some envy. "I reckon 
 I'd rather," looking from the bunch of sweet 
 peas in her fingers back to the dahlia bed 
 . . . "No, no, I'll keep you," she whispered 
 after a moment of doubtfulness, laying the 
 blossoms against her cheek. * They're butter- 
 flies, Toppy, pink butterflies, but they can't 
 fly any more until the prince comes." 
 
 The pony started off of his own accord 
 as if accustomed to the idiosyncrasies of 
 his riders, and trotted down to the village 
 
 91
 
 street while the children chattered together. 
 When he turned the corner they seemed 
 to rouse to the fact that they were in motion, 
 and the two heads turned to look back where 
 Mrs. Pritchett still stood, and a slender white 
 hand and a stubby brown one waved her 
 an adieu. 
 
 Thereafter little Mary Joyce Patterson and 
 her dark companion were frequent visitors 
 at the Carroll home, where their frank enjoy- 
 ment of her hospitality afforded as much 
 pleasure to their elderly hostess as her knowl- 
 edge of and deference to the tastes and 
 preference of the little girls gave them. The 
 boy, David, Mrs. Pritchett's nephew, spent 
 most of this period of his life at school, but 
 sometimes during his vacation days, he would 
 stand aloof and watch the fantastic games 
 that his Aunt Nora devised to amuse her 
 young guests, and was even known, when 
 the sport became too enticing, to forego the 
 dignity of his sex and superior years and 
 join the others. Toppy, whose infrequent 
 remarks were apt to be frank, "'lowed they 
 could git 'long jes as well thouten no boys 
 botherin'," a statement for which little Joyce 
 tried to atone by even more than her wonted 
 sweetness. As a playmate the lad preferred 
 
 92
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the brown-skinned lassie, who was fearless 
 in her endeavors to excel his own acrobatic 
 performances on a turning-pole that he had 
 erected hi the Carroll yard. His opinion 
 of Mary Joyce at this time was that she was 
 "pretty 'nough but a little fraidy cat.'* 
 
 As years rolled on and college succeeded 
 school, he lost his interest in the shy, half- 
 grown girls whom he sometimes saw at his 
 home during his vacation days, though one 
 year he was graciously pleased to appropriate 
 a picture belonging to his Aunt Nora of the 
 piquant face and wonderful hair of the "Pat- 
 terson Kid," and add it to the collection 
 of feminine portraits that decorated the walls 
 of his den. When his father's death com- 
 pelled him to leave college prior to graduation 
 and to assume charge of the now well estab- 
 lished and growing lumber industry that 
 bore the Carroll name, for two years he was 
 so engrossed in acquainting himself with 
 every detail of the enterprise and planning 
 for its enlargement, that he was hardly aware 
 of the occasional presence in his home of a 
 slender young girl with a halo of bright 
 curls, who slipped in and out unaccompanied 
 now r , for Miss Topknot had transferred her 
 guardianship to the person and fortunes 
 
 93
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of a young colored man by marrying early 
 as is the custom of her race. 
 
 In one of the holiday periods of Joyce's 
 last year at school, the young lumber dealer's 
 eyes had, at last, opened to her rare beauty, 
 though he gave no token of his tardy awaken- 
 ing to any one, least of all to the girl herself. 
 His Aunt Nora who after his father's death 
 had remained mistress of the house, and to 
 whom the well-built, clean-tongued young 
 fellow, with his personal fastidiousnesses, 
 his enthusiasm for the advancement of the 
 business and all the men employed in it, 
 was as the very apple of her eye may have 
 
 v J. JL v v 
 
 noticed that his rides in the direction of the 
 Patterson home became more frequent, but 
 she wisely made no comment. The summer 
 after Miss Ma'y Joyce read a tearful vale- 
 dictory to her schoolmates, and then, with 
 dimple in deadly action, stepped into the 
 joys of recognized young ladyhood, David 
 Carroll was always included in the local 
 merry-makings that she planned and led. 
 With the innate coquetry of her clime, she 
 made each of the young men who clustered 
 round this charming blossom on the old 
 Patterson tree, feel that he found special 
 favor in her eyes, yet toward the quiet, sedate 
 
 94
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 young lumberman there was a subtle under- 
 tone, a less superficial graciousness of bearing 
 that encouraged him, unversed as he was 
 in the wiles of the southern girl, to regard 
 her manner toward him as expressing more 
 than she intended it to mean. In other 
 words, he took too much for granted, and 
 Joyce, being "a woman and therefore to be 
 wooed," secretly resented his calm assurance 
 and unauthorized appropriation of herself, 
 while outwardly she alternated between moods 
 of wild gaiety of which he was often the butt, 
 and a kind of petulant tenderness toward 
 him from which he suffered much more 
 acutely. 
 
 With the coming of the frost, the young 
 woman packed her dainty furbelows and 
 started out for a round of visits, leaving 
 a startled young man free to bury himself, 
 his thoughts and his energies in his business 
 affairs. She wrote an occasional note of 
 rhapsody over her new experiences to Mrs. 
 Pritchett but poor David had to solace him- 
 self with the formal "kind regards" or "best 
 wishes" that were sent him in these missives 
 to his aunt. When the girl returned feverish 
 from a winter of belledom in the state capital 
 and some of the other large cities, she was 
 
 95
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 followed to her mountain home by relays 
 
 of friends, and the small station at Hollywood 
 
 was set a-flutter by the bevies of youthful 
 
 folk of both sexes, who climbed up or down 
 
 the high steps of the one old-fashioned car 
 
 that furnishes daily accommodation to such 
 
 passengers as wish to journey between the 
 
 'junction" and this terminal point. The 
 
 active, earnest business man felt himself 
 
 an alien in the midst of the boisterous youths, 
 
 whose sole occupation was the direction of 
 
 a series of frolics and for whom life had, as 
 
 yet, no serious purpose, and the fair-faced, 
 
 daintily gowned damsels, who blithely followed 
 
 the leadership of their masculine comrades. 
 
 Gradually JDavid withdrew from the circle 
 
 of pleasure seekers that revolved about Joyce, 
 
 spending such time as was not devoted to 
 
 his commercial interests in the completion 
 
 and equipment of a small club-house he had 
 
 designed for his workmen. His devoted aunt, 
 
 who had hoped and believed that the course 
 
 of his love was to run smooth in spite of 
 
 the old adage, divined his sense of loss and 
 
 loneliness and made tentative efforts to express 
 
 her sorrow and sympathy for this turn of 
 
 affairs, only to be balked by a cold reticence 
 
 that was as baffling as it was heroic. Mrs 
 
 96
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Pritchett attributed the girl's changed manner 
 to the influence of her Cousin Letitia, who 
 had been installed mistress of the Patterson 
 homestead some months prior to Joyce's 
 graduation, and who responded most cordially 
 to the increased tax upon her hospitality 
 engendered by the girl's social popularity. 
 Letitia, disappointed and chagrined on finding 
 conditions in the southern nome so widely 
 at variance from her expectations, and hav- 
 ing made no friends among the mountain 
 people, revelled in the deference paid her 
 by these guests from the "Blue Grass" 
 
 v O 
 
 section of the state, and welcomed the visitors 
 who brought with them the atmosphere of 
 the outer world, lending her hearty co-opera- 
 tion to all their schemes for amusement. 
 She would have mocked at the suggestion 
 that the people of the locality were bound 
 to resent their entire exclusion from these 
 festivities, and would have truthfully denied 
 any responsibility for the widening breach 
 between David Carroll and her Cousin Joyce. 
 When Bruce Patterson first brought his 
 bride to the old Patterson home, she was duly 
 visited by the ladies of the neighborhood, 
 those who came from pure goodwill toward 
 a stranger in their midst, as well as those 
 
 97
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 versed in the social code, but she had shown 
 them each and all an indifference that (if 
 they could but have known it) was partly 
 the outward sign of an inward rebellion 
 against an awakening to wholly unexpected 
 and inadequate realities. Mrs. Pritchett, who, 
 notwithstanding her friendships among the 
 natives of the locality, had looked forward 
 to the coming of the northern bride as an 
 event of peculiar interest to herself, had 
 hastened out to pay her respects, walking 
 all the distance along the river road with an 
 agility inspired by agreeable anticipations. 
 
 O / A */ O 
 
 Her eyes, skilled in reading character, and 
 her mind, experienced in discerning motive, 
 from her years of pilgrimage among the 
 inhabitants of the nethermost parts of the 
 globe, were on the alert as she sat and chatted 
 with this new mistress of the old home, and 
 her spirit was less buoyantly content as 
 she retraced her steps Hollywoodward. She, 
 like all who had long known Bruce Patterson, 
 felt for him great esteem and admiration, 
 and looked upon him as representative of 
 a high type of manhood, though she had at 
 times regretted that he was not cast in a sterner 
 mold. 
 
 During her first call on his bride, she 
 
 98
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 had caught one of the long glances that 
 Letitia had already begun to level at her hus- 
 band if his words or actions were not in accord 
 with her desires, and the elderly caller was 
 not deaf to the New Englander's intentional 
 repetition, in a tone more wounding than 
 the most severe outspoken correction, of 
 one of her own grammatical slips. In spite 
 of her years of travel, and the hours that she 
 spent poring over English classics, Mrs. 
 Pritchett's past tenses were, truth to tell, 
 unruly. By the time her best bonnet was 
 laid away, however, she had been willing 
 to ascribe the irritability that had marred 
 the courtesy of the bride and disconcerted 
 her guests, to what in reality was its source 
 unreadiness of self-adjustment to an un- 
 familiar environment; and at the supper 
 table that same evening, she spoke to her 
 nephew of her afternoon visit as one of 
 unqualified pleasure. 
 
 Letitia, on her side, had been struck by the 
 marked individuality of this elderly lady, who 
 had sojourned in countries much more remote 
 than any to which she had ever journeyed, 
 and, in spite of the faulty tenses, the daughter 
 of Professor Phelps anticipated a more inti- 
 mate association with this stranded cosmo-
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 politan than with any of the younger, more 
 impressionable women of the region. Further 
 knowledge, however, had clouded the mind 
 of each with misgivings as to the other. 
 Mrs. Pritchett's doubts on first acquaintance 
 darkened to distrust and frank dislike, and 
 Letitia learned to shrink before the un- 
 expressed ridicule that often lurked in Mrs. 
 Pritchett's twinkling eyes. 
 
 An episode occurred during Letitia's first 
 year's residence at Hollywood that strengthened 
 their mutual antipathy. Young Mrs. Pat- 
 terson, in her wish to cling to the habits of 
 her maidenhood, organized a woman's club, 
 of which Mrs. Pritchett, of course, was asked 
 to be a member. The club was modelled 
 on one that had existed for many years in 
 the university town from which Letitia had 
 come, and had its days for the discussion 
 of literature, of art, of village improvement, 
 and what-not. At a meeting at which Ameri- 
 can poets and their writings were the topic, 
 Letitia read a poem that at that time was 
 exciting much comment all over the land, prin- 
 cipally for the reason that the writer's meaning 
 was so obscure and his lines so involved as to 
 create an uncertainty in most minds as to how 
 they were to be properly construed. 
 
 100
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 After the reading, a discussion was in order 
 each line being duly scanned, and some 
 of the bolder spirits present had spoken, 
 their words in most instances being only 
 an endorsement of Letitia's expressed opinion. 
 
 Mrs. Pritchett was accustomed to bring 
 her knitting to these meetings, and while 
 Mrs. Patterson, who was the club president, 
 objected to this practice as unseemly, her 
 hints on the subject had fallen so unheeded 
 that she lacked the courage to speak more 
 frankly. On the occasion alluded to, she 
 at last turned to the knitter and with some 
 impatience asked : 
 
 'Can you not lay down your work long 
 enough to give us your thoughts on the 
 subject, Mrs. Pritchett? I think each club 
 member should be ready to add her quota 
 to the discussion before the meeting." 
 
 The member thus addressed looked up 
 with that guilelessness of expression that always 
 presaged mischief. 
 
 " I guess I've lost the gist of what has been 
 said," she admitted. 'I'm trying a new 
 pattern, and, somehow, it don't figure out 
 just right." 
 
 There was a pause in which the president 
 fixed her eyes upon this too industrious 
 
 101
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 member with the steely stare for which she 
 was noted. 
 
 "Each club member should take part 
 in the discussions," she repeated dictatorially. 
 
 Then there was another silence, during 
 which the other ladies present moved about 
 uneasily, and then Mrs. Pritchett placidly 
 said: 
 
 "I don't know what's come over me this 
 afternoon that I should recall so clearly 
 a man that boarded in the same hotel we did 
 up in the northern lumber district years ago. 
 He had a good tenor voice and like Mary 
 Jane was 'very fond o' singinY and every 
 night after supper, we'd all go into the parlor 
 and set round the big stove and get him 
 started to sing for us. One of the songs 
 he sang, I remember, was called 'Lanigan's 
 Ball,' and told about the rows and the ruptions 
 of an Irish dance. In the last verse there 
 was a line that ran, as he sung it, 'all round 
 the room in a quare whirligig.'' Our landlady 
 was a woman of decided opinions, and she 
 insisted that he sung it wrong that the 
 word was 'square' * a square whirligig.' 
 
 "The song-book he used was so old that 
 the print had become indistinct, and it was 
 impossible to decide just what the word 
 
 102
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 was intended for. So we had it 'quare, 
 quare,' 'square, square.' Some sided with 
 one and some with the other, and the feeling 
 run so high that finally he and his friends 
 packed up and left. The end of all was 
 that they lost a good home, for the other 
 place wasn't near so well kep', and our 
 land ady had some empty rooms on her 
 hands. I don't know as anything was gained 
 by the dispute," she commented musingly, 
 as she stuck her fifth needle in her mouth. 
 
 The president's gavel here struck the table 
 sharply and a motion to adjourn was quickly 
 put and carried. 
 
 In her home that evening, Letitia repeated 
 such of the story as she could recall to illustrate 
 her frequent assertion that Mrs. Pritchett, 
 though an interesting woman, could not 
 concentrate her mind on the subject in 
 hand (Letitia always attributed disagreement 
 with her to mental shortcoming) and was 
 amazed at the roars of laughter with which 
 Bruce greeted the absurd tale laughter to 
 which Mary Joyce, who happened to be at 
 home, joined her hysterical giggles. It is 
 doubtful if Mrs. Patterson ever clearly under- 
 stood the cause of their mirth, but thereafter 
 Mrs. Pritchett was permitted to knit in 
 
 103
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 peace when she chose to attend the club. 
 
 To the close-mouthed David alone did 
 his aunt give any expression of her dislike 
 for the transplanted daughter of the Puritans. 
 To him she summed up all Letitia's faults 
 and failings under the term vulgarity. :< What 
 could have induced Bruce Patterson, Bruce 
 Patterson of all men, to marry such a woman ?" 
 she would ask querulously, and then, answer- 
 ing her own question, she would assert 
 impressively : " There's something queer about 
 it all, David. Something we don't suspicion. 
 Mark my words." 
 
 When whispers of Letitia's rejection of 
 the justice of the Tyree verdict began to 
 circulate through the village, and comments 
 on her efforts to have it set aside, Mrs. Pritch- 
 ett listened to the gossips with a kind of 
 unholy joy. She acknowledged to herself 
 that she was glad for the disagreement be- 
 tween the husband and wife that Bruce 
 still had a mind of his own, and she almost 
 prayed that some way might be opened by 
 which Letitia could be shown that the decision 
 was just. She would have sacrificed much 
 of her time and comfort to be able to produce 
 infallible evidence of Tyree's guilt, and so 
 end the hot disputes that were rife in the 
 
 104
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 region, although it is but fair to her to add 
 that, having once attained this result, she 
 would afterwards have been equally eager 
 and untiring in her efforts to persuade the 
 authorities to commute the sentence. 
 
 105
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 "GRAN'PAP TREAD WAY," more than three 
 score years ago, built a home for his bride 
 in the hollow around which roll the four 
 hillsides of the Treadway farm. As built, 
 the little nest consisted of but one room, 
 with huge fireplace and projecting chimney; 
 then, as the oirdlings began to flutter, a 
 second cabin had been erected about twelve 
 feet distant from the first, the space between 
 the two being floored and roofed, and forming 
 what is dubbed in the mountain region 
 "the dog-trot," the most frequented part 
 of every home except in wild weather. As 
 time flew on and children multiplied and 
 grew, a second story was added, with a stair- 
 way leading from the dog- trot to the "gallery" 
 above, the latter in reality an open hall onto 
 which the three chambers opened. The old 
 chimney, built of short logs chinked and 
 smeared with clay, still did service as heater 
 at one end of the dwelling, but the newer 
 fireplace at the other end was constructed 
 of stone taken from the surrounding hills, 
 and was of vast proportions. From this 
 
 106
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 homestead had gone out thirteen children, 
 four of whom had settled almost within 
 stone's throw of the paternal acres, and 
 two more had clung even more closely to 
 the old nest and built fairly under its eaves. 
 The patriarch was nearing his ninetieth 
 year, but, save for the loss of his teeth and a 
 partial deafness, he showed few signs of 
 senility. His long white beard and fierce 
 eyebrows well nigh concealed features that 
 were crowned by a mat of snowy hair. Under 
 this thatch, dark eyes flashed and twinkled 
 when he was interested or amused. He was 
 given to making two boasts: one that he 
 could and did on festal days gather under 
 his roof his thirteen children, sixty-two grand- 
 children, and eleven great-grandchildren; the 
 other characteristic on which he prided him- 
 self being that he was that supernaturally 
 gifted rarity, the seventh son of a seventh 
 son. It was his great sorrow that of his 
 thirteen children seven were girls, so that 
 he could not hope to transmit his occult 
 powers to any of his progeny. For some 
 years the old man had practically performed 
 no manual labor, but he was never too feeble 
 to respond to a call for the exercise of his 
 gift of healing, and his weather prognostica- 
 
 107
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 tions were regarded as infallible throughout 
 all that region. 
 
 On the morning that Bruce Patterson, in 
 his endeavor to fulfil Letitia's wish for the 
 use of the small cabin, lifted small Enoch 
 over the bars in the high rail fence at the end 
 of the road that led "up to Treadway's," 
 he saw the nonogenarian sitting under the 
 spreading branches of a gigantic hickory 
 tree not far from the doorstep of the old 
 homestead. The patriarch sat alone, for 
 his oldest great-granddaughter, Baity, was 
 the only feminine member of his household 
 who had not gone with the other women of 
 the neighborhood to pick wild blackberries, 
 the men were out in the field and the children 
 at school. Baity, a robust girl of seventeen, 
 with an attractive face and the magnificent 
 carriage of all the young girls of the moun- 
 tains, stood at a loom in the dog-trot, and 
 threw the shuttle back and forth with much 
 industry, in her desire to complete a blue- 
 and- white Chariot- Wheel "kiverlid" that 
 Gran'maw Treadway had warped for her, and 
 which, it was to be inferred from her blushes 
 and smiles when any comment was made on 
 her progress, was designed to form part 
 of her bridal plenishing. While she wove 
 
 108
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 she sang, her powerful, harsh voice ringing 
 far out into the open, and Bruce halted 
 while still out of sight himself to listen with 
 a smile to the monotonous melody and quaint 
 lines of a ballad often heard in the Cumber- 
 land heights : 
 
 THE KENTUCKY GIRL. 
 
 My parent* treated me kind-ly , None other child but me ; My mind being let on 
 
 -Pl IU I l j l lj i 
 
 d-d *l d J o 1-^- 
 
 e? 
 
 - 
 
 - * 
 
 ramblin'. With them I couldn't agree. My mind being set on ramb-Kn'.This wide world 
 
 *& * -* 
 
 o'er, I left my aged par-ems Whom never to see 
 
 There was a rich old farmer lived in the county nigh, 
 Who had an only daughter, on her I fixed my eye; 
 She bein' so young and handsome, so eager and so fair, 
 There wasn't a girl in the country with her I could compare. 
 I asked if it made any diff'runce if I roved over the plain ? 
 She said it made no diff 'runce if I'd come back again; 
 She said she would be true to me till death proved her unkind 
 We kissed, shook hands and parted I left my girl behind. 
 
 The half-hearted lover "rambled" of all 
 places! to Missouri, and after recounting 
 some of his adventures in the state where 
 optical proof is required, the song ends: 
 
 One night as I was walkin' a-down the public square, 
 The mail was just arrivin', the post-boy met me there; 
 
 109
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 He handed me a letter that gave me to understand 
 That the girl I left in Kentucky had married another man. 
 
 I advanced a few steps further not knowing these words to 
 
 be true, 
 
 My mind bein' shocked with mis'ry I didn't know what to do; 
 My mind bein' shocked with mis'ry, my body all racked with 
 
 pain . . . 
 I'll spend my days in ramblin', for the girl I'll ne'er see again. 
 
 As Mr. Patterson listened to this ditty, 
 he remembered how as a boy he had always 
 to struggle to keep back his tears when this 
 pathetic climax was reached the philosophic 
 resignation of the jilted swain had, in those 
 days, made no appeal to his mind or his 
 risibilities. He now laughed and applauded 
 vigorously, and the singer peeped around 
 the corner of the building, curiously. 
 
 "Howdy, Baity!" he called cheerily, ap- 
 proaching the house. "Howdy, Mr. Tread- 
 way! Can you give this youngster a drink 
 of milk? And while you are about it, Baity, 
 you might bring one for me also. It is very 
 sultry in the woods today." 
 
 "Weh-ell! Bruce Patterson!" exclaimed 
 the girl, blushing and bridling. "You been 
 a-listenin* to my screechin'? Reckon I can 
 find some milk and cream, too, if it ain't 
 all gone blinky. This weather turns it power- 
 
 110
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 ful quick. You sit right down an' talk to 
 Gran'pap while I go down to the spring- 
 house an' see. You don't come-by very 
 often these days, an' he'll be glad to talk 
 with you. Better sit on a chair," she added 
 quickly, as Bruce started to throw himself 
 on the ground by the side of the old gentleman. 
 " The wood- ticks an' chiggers don't want nary 
 better invite to dinner than to have you a-call- 
 in' them that-a-way." 
 
 The old man had been peering out from 
 his overhanging brows, shifting himself about 
 in his chair with the aid of his stick. " Who'd 
 yo' say hit was, Baity ?" he called querulously 
 to the girl, holding a hand to one of his ears. 
 
 "Why, you know me, Mr. Treadway," 
 said Bruce, bending over him. " My name 
 is Patterson Bruce Patterson." 
 
 "Oh!" and a keen flash shot from the dark 
 eyes towards the visitor. :< Yes, I know 
 Patterson ol' Hi. But I ain't seen yo' 
 for a powerful long spell, an' I ain't sure 
 that yo' be him. That yore little boy yo' 
 got with yo' ?" 
 
 "No," said Bruce, thinking it unnecessary 
 to explain his precise identity. "He's a little 
 chap that is staying with us at present, and 
 he rode with me to the upper mine, and then 
 
 111
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 we walked from there over here. Pretty 
 stiff walk for short legs, eh ?" 
 
 Noc, who had been staring shyly around, 
 now came a few steps nearer the old man, 
 who held out a shaking hand and said in 
 kindly tones: 
 
 "An* what might yore name be, sonny? 
 They've fergot to tell Gran'pap." 
 
 "Name's Noc," whispered the child in 
 embarrassment . 
 
 "Noc? I never heerd nary such name. 
 What after Noc?" 
 
 "NocTyree." 
 
 "Tyree! Yo' Jud Tyree's boy?" and the 
 old man looked in bewilderment to Bruce. 
 "Why, 'tain't but yes'day that somebody 
 was a-tellin' me somethin' nother bouten 
 Judson Tyree. Now, what was hit? I've 
 plumb fergot." 
 
 To Bruce's relief, Baity now reappeared 
 with two glasses of milk and a plate of cold 
 corn-pone. "Weh-ell!" she ejaculated with 
 her peculiar lengthening of the expletive, 
 " you re plumb strange to me you and your 
 name. Noc! That's new to me. 'Low you 
 come from somewheres up on Troublesome, 
 didn't you? That's where mos } of the boys 
 I know comes from."
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "No, I didn't," muttered the child, edging 
 closer to Bruce and taking a glass of milk 
 from his hand. After drinking a few sips 
 of it, he suddenly looked the laughing girl 
 in the face, and as if in resentment of her 
 joke, he said : 
 
 "We lives a-way up yander," stretching 
 his short arm towards the highest mountain 
 peak ; " an* an' we've got a cow an' a calf 
 an' an' a heifer calf an' hens an' roosters, 
 an' jinny mule, an' a dog, a lots nicer dog 
 than yo've got," with a scornful look at a 
 decrepit hound who had come sniffing about 
 for some of the corn-pone. 
 
 "You ha-ave?" retorted the girl, drawing 
 in her breath as though overpowered by the 
 magnitude of these possessions. "Then how 
 come you're a-way down here 'mong us pore 
 folks?" she asked teasinglv, but catching 
 Bruce's eyes and the meaning shake of his 
 head, she stopped and looked about for 
 some means of amusing the child. "Never 
 mind me a-foggin' you-all, honey," she said. 
 "Kind-a 'pears to me like I can see a tow- 
 head a-stickin' out of Aunt Debby's door. 
 Maybe her Dan's home from school already. 
 You want to run down there with me and 
 ;see?" Noc smiled and slipped his hand 
 
 113
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 into hers with perfect good-fellowship, and 
 together they started for one of the smaller 
 houses in the hollow. 
 
 Bruce seized upon this opportunity to 
 speak to old Mr. Treadway of the three- 
 roomed cabin, that, unoccupied and weather- 
 stained, stood at the farthest angle of the farm. 
 
 " Mr. Treadway," he said, " one reason 
 I came out today was to ask your consent 
 to- letting me have the use of that small, 
 empty house of yours," pointing up to it. 
 "Tyree's wife and baby and this boy Noc 
 may want to remain in this neighborhood 
 for a time, and I thought I would ask you 
 if you would be willing to have her use it." 
 'Tyree's wife, did yo' say, Patterson?" 
 asked the old man, again using one hand for 
 an ear-trumpet. "Why, how come she down 
 this-a-way? One of the boys was a-tellin' 
 me that they got Jud Tyree here in the jail- 
 house, an' was a-goin' to take him to Frank- 
 fort an' penitenture him. What's his wife 
 a-doin' down this-a-way ?" 
 
 "I suppose she came so as to be near 
 her husband," answered Bruce, trying not 
 to lose patience at the old gentleman's curiosity. 
 "She is here now, and I want to get some 
 place for her to stay where she will feel 
 
 114
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 comfortable." 
 
 " Bill, my grandson, was a-tellin' me yes'day 
 evenin' that he 'lowed there'd be a new 
 trial of that Tyree case," said the patriarch, 
 his memory of recent events becoming more 
 clear. "Yo* heerd anything bouten that? 
 Why, Bruce Patterson," with sudden recogni- 
 tion of the identity of his guests, "yo' was 
 one of them jury-men that found Tyree guilty 
 of murder; what yo' got to tell me bouten 
 that?" 
 
 " I have nothing to say about it, Mr. Tread- 
 way," looking into the wrinkled face now 
 alert with interest, "except that from the 
 evidence offered we believed that he committed 
 the crime." 
 
 "But, young man, down this-a-way we 
 don't call gettin' red of them sneakin' revenue 
 officers murder. No, sir! 'Tain't killin' a 
 man to send a bullet into one of them. Why, 
 sir, them miser'ble houn's '11 do mos' ary 
 derned thing to send in a big report to gov'- 
 ment. They got to make some show o* 
 earnin' their pay or they'll get fired an* 
 they ain't so powerful particular how they 
 earn hit. Why, sir, down to the jail-house 
 today there's an old woman from up-country 
 here, jes' as pretty-behaved a woman as ever 
 
 115
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 yo' see. An' what's she there for? She's 
 in there, sir, so thet some damn blue-coat 
 can add her name to the list he fixes up for 
 eov'ment to look over. She's there, sir, 
 for sellin' one glass o' moonshine four years 
 ago, an' she's been jailed three times a'ready 
 for sellin' that same glass o' liquor. Yo' go 
 down there, sir, an' she'll tell yo*. One o' 
 them whelps that makes their livin' a-prowlin' 
 round an' a-smellin' out what their neighbors 
 is a-doin' comes-by her way bouten once in 
 so often an' brings her in, an' she, pore soul, 
 is too dumb an' too scared to make ary fight. 
 A woman ol' enough to be yore mother, an' 
 as timid as a wild bird! It ain't murder 
 to stop no sech devilment as that. 
 
 "I ain't a-blamin' gov'ment nary mite, 
 neither. Gov'ment's got too many big 
 things to think about to care much about 
 knowin' what goes on down this-a-way. Some 
 one had ought to go an' tell hit. Yo'd ought 
 to, Bruce Patterson!" with increasing vehe- 
 mence and with full cognizance of the man 
 whom he addressed at last. "That was 
 what Hiram, yore Pappy, aimed to have yo' 
 do; straighten out an such crooked con- 
 trivances here in the mountains. Why, I 
 kin remember jes' as if hit was yes'day, one 
 
 116
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 time nigh onto twenty-five years back, when 
 Hi rid out here an' fetched yo' along. Yo' 
 was a peart young shaver, same size as that 
 one that come along o' yo' today; an* Hiram 
 says to me 'Treadway, do yo' want to 
 know what I'm aimin' to train this son o' 
 mine to do? I'm a-goin' to have him 
 learnt to help these here mountains. A 
 blam' lot of misdoin' an' wrong has crep' 
 in betwixt these hilltops, an' some one s 
 
 fot to turn to an' scare hit out.' I kin see 
 im now, jes' as plain! He sot on his horse 
 right over yon, an' the clouds come a-bilin' 
 an' a-bilin' up over the mountain an' yo' 
 was a-hangin' to yore Pappy's stirrup, an' 
 a-lookin' up in his face an' smilin' when 
 he said hit.' 
 
 The old man's voice was smothered by 
 a violent cough, and Bruce said hurriedly: 
 
 "But this case of Tyree, Mr. Treadway, 
 all evidence showed that he had made threats 
 to kill the officer, and when an opportunity 
 came he shot him. Could there be any 
 verdict but guilty ?" 
 
 "As I understand hit," Gran'pap replied 
 judicially, "murder, or ho-my-cide means 
 tillin' a maw, or a human o' one sect or the 
 other. Now them revenues, they ain't men. 
 
 117
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Near's I kin figure out this one that Tyree 
 shot needed kulin 9 . I ain't disputin* but 
 what yo' believe yo' give in the right verdict, 
 but yo' know as well as me, how these lawyer 
 fellers kin fix up things puttin' words in 
 the witnesses' mouths that they don't sense 
 the meanin' of, an' a-jugglin' an' pettifoggin'." 
 The white head sank against the back of 
 the chair in exhaustion, and Baity, who had 
 returned to her loom, ran from the dog-trot 
 with a gourd filled with fresh water and held 
 it to her great-grandfather's lips. 
 
 "Is Mary Joyce at home now?" she asked 
 of Bruce, as the old man slowly revived. 
 
 "Yes," answered Bruce, with a sigh of 
 relief as the face lying back against the 
 cushions showed a faint color. "Why don't 
 you come in and see her, Baity? You and 
 she were great friends that year you both 
 went to the academy at Winchester." 
 
 "Weh-ell," ejaculated the girl, fidgeting 
 from one foot to the other, and playing 
 with her apron strings, "I sure would like 
 to see her, but I ain't got much time now-a- 
 days for visitin'," and a telltale color flooded 
 her cheeks. "You ask her to come-by some 
 day soon. I've got right smart to tell her," 
 with a giggle. " Tell her to come-by ary day." 
 
 118
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 A shrill cry from Noc interrupted the 
 message, as he, followed closely by a larger 
 boy, came running round the corner of the 
 house. Noc made straight for Bruce and 
 threw himself into the man's arms. "He 
 says, he says," he gasjred, with a gesture 
 to the boy who was behind him, and lifting 
 a face blanched by terror . . . 
 
 "What you been a-sayin', you Dan?" 
 demanded Baity sternly. * Ain't you 'shamed 
 of yourself to scare a pore little boy a great 
 big mutton-head like you!" 
 
 "Didn't say nare thing to scare him," 
 mumbled the larger boy. "I didn't do nare 
 thing to hurt him. He was a-tellin' all what 
 they got to his house, an' what he could do, 
 an' what his Pap could do, an' a-crowin', 
 an' a-struttin', an' I 'lowed thar wasn't 
 much his Pap could do now." 
 
 "He, he says they're a-goin' to kill my 
 Pappy," he shrieked, clutching Bruce's arm 
 tight in horror. " But yo' won't let 'em, will 
 yo' ? Yo 9 won't let 'em kill my Pap?" 
 
 "There, there," said Bruce soothingly, 
 pressing the trembling figure to him, w r hile 
 Baity marched the offender off against his 
 repeated protests that he "hadn't done nare 
 thing." 'You and I must be starting for 
 
 119
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 home, Noc. We have to walk back to the 
 mine, and then you are to drive me down 
 from there." 
 
 "Yo' might stop and look into that little 
 house as yo' go long-by, Patterson," sug- 
 gested old Mr. Treadway, who had been 
 dozing during this episode with the children 
 and had heard nothing of it. "Hit's in 
 tolerable pore shape, I reckon. Bill, he 
 onct aimed to fix up some latchet work 
 betwixt hit an* the road, so's 't folks couldn't 
 peek into the window so easy, but he ain't 
 never finished hit yet. Yo're welcome to 
 use the house as long as yo' want hit, Bruce. 
 An' yo'll come an' see Gran'pap ever day 
 when yore a-livin' out here, won't yo' ? ' 
 he added coaxingly to the little boy whose 
 face was hidden against Bruce's knee. 
 
 "No," answered Noc decidedly. "I won't 
 come a-nigh whar Dan is never." Then 
 he rose and walked silently to the bars, but 
 as Bruce stooped to lift him over into the 
 road, two thin arms were flung around his 
 neck, and convulsive sobs broke forth anew 
 from the child as he repeated wildly "Yo* 
 won't let 'em kill my Pappy, will yo'? Yo* 
 won't let 'em!" 
 
 Troubled and depressed, Mr. Patterson 
 
 120
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 walked nervously up and down one of the 
 porches of his home towards the end of that 
 day, smoking and patting the head of Meh 
 Lady who kept pace with him, when Letitia 
 descended the stairway and then went on 
 down into the yard. She was clad in the 
 most unusual fashion for one whose personal 
 appearance always evinced such scrupulous 
 care. Her hair was covered by a gaily 
 bordered towel, arranged after the mode 
 of a Roman headdress, a voluminous apron 
 concealed her skirts, and sundry streaks 
 and smudges of dust were visible on her 
 cheeks and forehead. Over her arms hung 
 two brilliant patchwork quilts, which she 
 spread over a low bush in the yard, and then 
 returned and faced her husband's questioning 
 smile with a severity of mien that froze the 
 teasing comment he had been about to utter 
 upon his lips. 
 
 " I have been rummaging through the store- 
 room, to see what could be spared toward 
 making Mrs. Tyree comfortable up there," 
 she said, " and I have selected a few articles 
 that have not been in use since I came 
 to this house, and probably not for a long 
 time before then. I wish you would come 
 and look them over and see if there is any
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 objection, sentimental or otherwise, to loan- 
 ing them to her." 
 
 " That is quite unnecessary, Letitia," Bruce 
 replied gently. "No one will question 
 your judgment in the use of anything you 
 find in this house. That Treadway cabin 
 is in poor repair, I fear hardly weather- 
 proof. Does Mrs. Tyree plan to stay until 
 the frost comes ? If so, we must make some 
 changes up there." 
 
 "She will stay until we see if justice is to 
 be done her husband," was the bitter reply. 
 
 "Does she see him often? What has he 
 to say about her remaining here ?" 
 
 Letitia faltered. There was a weak fibre 
 in the romantic fabric she had been weaving 
 with threads spun from her own imagination, 
 of the devotion of this mountain wife and 
 husband, which she was loath to admit 
 even to herself; but she finally said, slowly: 
 
 "She went to the jail soon after she came, 
 but Tyree refused to see her. I don't know 
 why probably a feeling of pride against 
 receiving a visit from his wife while he was 
 behind prison bars. She did not ask to go 
 again, and I have not urged it, because I 
 have been so sure that Tyree would be at 
 liberty so soon. As things are I will ask 
 
 122
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her about going once more." 
 
 She had turned to the steps when Bruce 
 spoke again. 
 
 " I wish you would tell me how she happens 
 to be here, Letitia. I do not understand." 
 
 "One of the miners is a relative of hers, 
 and it seems she has lived in the village. 
 She knew the location of the jail to which 
 she was told her husband was taken, and she 
 rode over with a neighbor of hers. Then 
 she and the children crowded the cabin of 
 her friends beyond what even a mountaineer 
 considers decent, and they were all trying 
 to persuade her to go back to her own home 
 and await the outcome of the trial there, 
 when I heard of her and went to see her. 
 She and the children were so destitute of 
 clothing, that the first thing to be done was 
 to make them something to wear, and I told 
 her I would help her with her sewing. Of 
 course, to accomplish that, it was easier 
 to have her come and stay here, and I thought 
 she could use Toppy's old room at Aunt 
 Philomee's without inconveniencing any one, 
 but that colored autocrat took it upon herself 
 to be offended and insisted on leaving her 
 home and going to stay at Toppy's. There 
 was no need for it and no reason in it, but, 
 
 123
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 as you know, there is nothing to be gained 
 by arguing with your cook. I did not think 
 it mattered much either way, for I was con- 
 fident that Mr. Tyree would be acquitted, 
 and able to take his family back where 
 they belong. I am absolutely sure that he 
 is innocent of the crime for which he is 
 condemned." 
 
 " Would you object to telling me why you 
 are so confident of his innocence?" asked 
 Bruce, gladly taking advantage of his wife's 
 willingness to talk more freely on the subject 
 that haunted him. "Has Mrs. Tyree given 
 you any proof of this? Has she talked 
 much with you in regard to the circum- 
 stances ?" 
 
 "Yes, she has talked," answered Letitia. 
 "She has given no proof that would satisfy 
 a juror, perhaps, but she has told of many 
 things that could be investigated, and that 
 pieced together would form convincing proof. 
 And when it comes to proof," and her eyes 
 gleamed, "what conclusive evidence was 
 offered against the man? I have heard 
 before of instances in these mountain courts 
 where accusation was evidence where men 
 were railroaded to the penitentiary, or beyond, 
 in order to promote '
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "Yes," interrupted Bruce quietly, though 
 he had grown white, "you intimated some- 
 thing of the kind last evening." Then as 
 her grey eyes riveted themselves upon his, 
 he continued with less spirit "You have 
 urged Tyree's counsel to demand a rehearing: 
 Letitia, if you know of any facts, if you know 
 of any means of getting at evidence that 
 will free Tyree, for God's sake tell me and I 
 will do all that is possible to liberate this man. 
 In convicting him, I acted in good faith, 
 I swear I did, but I am willing to admit that 
 my judgment was erroneous, and to do all I 
 can to search for and furnish the proof of 
 his innocence if you think it is to be found." 
 
 There was a long, tense silence, then the 
 flashing eyes were lowered, a gleam of triumph 
 in their depths, and Letitia began to mount 
 the stairs. "We will have a talk with Mrs. 
 Tyree this evening," was all she said as she 
 disappeared. 
 
 When the evening's talk had ended, Bruce 
 knew that nothing definite had been said 
 knew that Letitia had acted as chief spokes- 
 woman, and that Zulemmy had simply ac- 
 quiesced in a half-comprehending way to the 
 ideas advanced to her; but he had promised 
 to investigate the vague possibilities suggested, 
 
 125
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and Letitia had the manner of a victor as 
 she led the way back from Aunt Philomee's 
 cabin to the house. She did not guess that 
 other forces than her wish and her will were 
 impelling Bruce to so strange a course; that 
 more potent than her reiterated belief in 
 Judson Tyree's innocence, were the fears 
 by which Bruce's mind was held in thrall, 
 fears partly engendered by the changed atti- 
 tude of all his neighbors towards him, but 
 more than all by the echo of a child's agonized 
 plea 
 
 " Fo' won't let 'em kill my Pappy, will yo'?" 
 
 126
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 HAD Zulemmy Tyree been a person given 
 to self-analysis, she would have noticed that 
 her dominant emotion on exchanging Aunt 
 Philomee's cabin on the Patterson Place 
 for the little Treadway house, was that of 
 one released from irksome restraint. 
 
 Mrs. Letitia Patterson, though frantically 
 untiring in her benefactions to whomsoever 
 happened to be the object of her charity 
 and interest for the nonce, was apt to exact 
 from the recipients of her bounty not only 
 an exact conformity to her opinions and 
 ideas, but oft-ejaculated encomiums on her 
 kindness, and the most fulsome flattery of 
 her generous traits. Unconsciously, perhaps, 
 she required her beneficiaries to, as it were, 
 place lighted candles on the altar of her 
 self-esteem, and instances were not unknown 
 where those to whom she extended her 
 spasmodic patronage had been of the opinion 
 that the game was not worth the candle. 
 The daughter of the highlands over whom 
 she now held the wing of her protection 
 was too thoroughly a child of ease, too averse 
 
 127
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to all exertion of mind or body, to take any 
 initiative steps towards withdrawal from a 
 surveillance that would have galled most 
 women, but she was glad that circumstances 
 had led her beyond its hourly exercise. 
 
 Letitia had insisted on certain reforms in 
 personal habits, as, for instance, that not alone 
 the baby, but each of the trio should have 
 a daily bath, and that the clothing of each 
 should be kept whole and clean. She also 
 had her theories as to the proper diet for 
 young children, and other vagaries that neces- 
 sitated activity. From broad hints on these 
 matters, she passed to definite statements 
 and then to positive commands. 
 
 "It costs you nothing, Mrs. Tyree, to be 
 neat and tidy about your person and to keep 
 the children so, and while you are here with 
 me, I shall expect these things to have atten- 
 tion. Situated as you are at present, I am 
 sure that what I ask of you cannot overtask 
 your time or strength.' Even Zulemmy's 
 rudimentary intelligence had caught the sting 
 in that last sentence, and it made her restless 
 and uneasy when in Mrs. Patterson's presence. 
 
 Noc was as fearlessly natural under all 
 circumstances as only an untutored child 
 dares be, and was but slightly abashed by 
 
 128
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Letitia's reiterated corrections and the scowls 
 that furrowed her brow when his small hands 
 were outstretched for any of her belongings. 
 The boy had grown extremely fond of Miss 
 Joyce, who romped and played with him 
 and Meh Lady, and he silently worshipped 
 Bruce, but he was glad to escape from the 
 rare atmosphere of a childless home to a 
 haven where a lad could breathe more natu- 
 rally. The baby, too, was less fretful in the 
 general serenity, and it was a happy little 
 family that dropped the tiresome, recently 
 acquired habits at the threshold of Bill 
 Tread way's property. 
 
 Letitia, after ransacking every pantry, closet 
 and place of storage in the Patterson home, 
 had grieved that there was so little that was 
 suitable for furnishing the temporary abiding 
 place to which she was transferring her 
 proteges, but, to tell the truth, Zulemmy 
 had never before possessed one quarter as 
 many utensils, dishes and other furniture 
 as had been carted out for her comfort and 
 service. Joyce's personal contribution to the 
 outfit had been a few bright pictures that 
 in her younger days she had deemed treas- 
 ures of art, but which later years had banished 
 to the attic, and a few of the multiplicity 
 
 129
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of clay jugs and jars that she had molded 
 and glazed while at school. Zulemmy and 
 her stepson were almost breathless in their 
 admiration of these "pretties," as the moun- 
 taineer terms anything purely decorative, 
 and would have sacrificed every other one 
 of their new possessions to retain these. 
 
 Mrs. Tyree seldom mentioned her husband 
 now; he had again refused to see her when 
 she went to the Hollywood jail before his 
 removal to the state penitentiary, and what 
 her thoughts of him were no one could guess. 
 Probably her mind dwelt upon him infre- 
 quently, for her mental color was apt to be 
 the reflection of her environment; if she 
 and those in whom she was immediately 
 concerned were in physical comfort, she was 
 content and the rest of the world might 
 go hang. 
 
 The second evening after her arrival at 
 her new shelter, she went down to the spring 
 near the old Treadway homestead for a pan 
 of water, and, in the twilight, a tall figure 
 approached and a man's voice called gaily: 
 
 * Howdy, Zulemmy ! You ain't fergot your 
 old friends, have you?" and she looked up 
 into Bill Treadway's laughing blue eyes. 
 Bill's months of "soldiering" had trained 
 
 130
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 him to hold himself erect and to keep his 
 mop of blonde hair close clipped, as well as 
 to shave all his face clean, except for the soft 
 mustache that shaded his upper lip. He 
 had grown into something of a dandy, too, 
 regarding his collars and neck-ties, for which 
 he sent to one of the mail-order enter- 
 prises of the North, and upon occasions wore 
 the cuffs with which he had provided himself 
 while away from home. His features were 
 quite regular, and, altogether, when he was 
 free from the influence of liquor, his appear- 
 ance was such as to attract any woman. 
 
 Zulemmy, who had all the coquetry of the 
 Carmen temperament, hesitated a moment 
 with parted lips and knitted brows, as if 
 endeavoring to recall this man to her memory. 
 
 "Why, I'm Bill Treadway," he said with 
 a jolly laugh. "I saw you when you was 
 a-livin' to Dave Carroll's. Let me carry 
 that bucket for you," and taking it from 
 her hand, he turned and walked beside 
 her up the slope that led to her abiding 
 place. "You'll nave to make up your mind 
 to be awful nice to me," he continued as they 
 went along; "I'm your landlord, you know; 
 that's my house you're a-livin' in now." 
 
 She shot a long glance at him from beneath 
 
 131
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her dark lashes. "I ain't heerd as yo've 
 made yo're claim to hit good yit," she said. 
 "When did hit happen?" 
 
 "Ho, you've been a-listenin' to Gran'pap's 
 yarn about it. They've been a-tellin' you 
 that I ain't to have it till I'm married. Well, 
 I reckon it won't be hard for me to make 
 good my title to it when I git good and ready." 
 
 "Girls is powerful partic'lar now-a-days," 
 with a side look and a mischievous smile. 
 
 "I 'low tain't the girls that's so damn 
 partic'lar this time," ne returned, twisting 
 nis mustache with his free hand. "Trouble 
 is, you see, that ary woman I take a fancy 
 to has got a husband a'ready." 
 
 "We-11," drawled Zulemmy, who was en- 
 joying this encounter immensely, " that hadn't 
 ought to stop yo' from gittin' the one you 
 want. I've heerd yo' was powerful handy 
 with a shot-gun." 
 
 "Yes, I am so," said the young man, his 
 thoughts quickly diverted to a new channel. 
 "Say! I've got a new revolver over home; 
 prettiest little trick you ever seen. Shoots 
 a good-sized bullet without makin' hardly 
 no noise. I'll bring it up some evenin' and 
 show you." 
 
 They had now reached the cottage, and 
 
 132
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 he rested the pail on the door-sill and hesitated 
 as his companion said nothing about his 
 entering; but she was much too attractive 
 for him to part with so soon. 
 
 "I'll just step in now and take a look at 
 that roof," he suggested. "Gran'pap was 
 a-tellin' that there was a hole in one corner 
 big enough for a cat to jump through, and I 
 may not be comin' by again soon. Howdy, 
 sonny," to Noc, who stole in from the back 
 of the house. "You just help your uncle 
 move this bed out of the way, and we'll fix 
 the place up so't the moon can't tumble through 
 on to you-all tonight." 
 
 He climbed up and made some temporary 
 repair, and afterwards remained, joking and 
 laughing with Zulemmy, whose eyes had 
 grown very dark and whose cheeks burned 
 a deep scarlet. When he finally left, it was 
 with the promise to return the next day with 
 the proper tools and make his repairs more 
 permanent. 
 
 He appeared at the door the following 
 evening, with a revolver in his hand, and 
 Zulemmy noticed that he had been drinking. 
 As is generally the case, liquor benumbed 
 the good elements of the man's character, 
 and stimulated all that was vicious and bad 
 
 133
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 in him. He had brought no tools with him, 
 but he insisted on firing the revolver over and 
 over again, to the joy of small Enoch and the 
 terror of Zulemmy. To all her coaxing, 
 he would only laugh and declare that he 
 "wasn't doin' nary harm on'y shootin' at 
 random." 
 
 "Ever hear that tale 'bout old Squire 
 Doty an' the boys that some fresh officer 
 brought in for a-firin' off their guns in the 
 woods, Zulemmy?" he asked. "One of 'em 
 was Abner Evans, and when Squire questioned 
 him what he was a-firin' at, Ab 'lowed he was 
 on'y a-firin' at random. Pete Smith, he come 
 next in order. He was scared, and thought 
 he couldn't give no better excuse, so he 
 'lowed he was on'y firin' at random. Then 
 come Fred Gofoth's turn, and as the other 
 boys 'peared to have got off easy, he reckoned 
 he d play the same card, so he up and 'lowed 
 he'd on'y been firin' at random. Old Squire 
 was mad as blazes by that time. *I fine 
 you three dollars each,' he says, 'and I'm 
 plumb ready to jail ary one of you for bein' 
 such poor shots. I want some o' you boys 
 to hit that ol' Random some day an' kill 
 him, so's I won't hev to listen to nary more 
 stories 'bout firin' at him.' I'll just leave 
 
 134
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the little trick here with you, Zulemmy," 
 he said as he at last rose to depart, after 
 an hour during which the heart of his hostess 
 had fluttered between the exciting pleasure 
 of his presence and bold flattery, and a fear 
 of what he might be led to do while in his 
 present condition and with the revolver in 
 his hands. 
 
 "Oh, no!" she responded, looking with 
 terror at the glittering object, for, like many 
 of the mountain women, she was mortally 
 afraid of anything in the form of firearms. 
 " Better take hit along with yo', Bill." 
 
 " I ain't goin' to do no such thing," he said 
 sullenly, and his face grew ugly. " I'm a-goin' 
 to leave it right here with you. You're 
 under my roof, Zulemmy, so I'm bound to 
 look after you and pertect you." Then, 
 suddenly, he leaned closer to her and asked 
 in a husky whisper: "Say, Zulemmy, tell 
 me how you feel about Jud. I heerd to-day 
 that they don't aim to give him another trial 
 after all. I reckon you'll never git him back." 
 
 Zulemmy shivered and cowered, hiding 
 her face in her hands. She hated to talk 
 about Jud poor Jud, who already seemed 
 as far removed from her and her life as though 
 he had been transported to another planet. 
 
 135
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Bill stood and looked at the shrinking 
 figure for a moment, and then his eyes blazed 
 and he swore. "Don't you be a-grievin' 
 so, Zulemmy," he coaxed. "It's all the 
 doin' of that whelp, Bruce Patterson," with 
 the rising anger of a reasonless man. "He's 
 been aimin' to git back with them political 
 friends of his, and he's just used Jud and 
 you as a handle to git him there. I'll . . ." 
 
 "No, no! He ain't," answered the woman, 
 fearful of the explosion of this mine that 
 her words had fired. "He ain't meanin' 
 we-uns nary harm. 'T ain't him that's 
 holdin' Jud hit's the law. Bruce Patter- 
 son's been powerful good to me always." 
 
 "Ho, he has, has he?" her words producing 
 the opposite effect from what she had cal- 
 culated. "It's a double game he's a-playin', 
 is it ?" heedless of her remonstrances. " Well, 
 Zulemmy, you remember I've said I'd per- 
 tect you, and I will. Yes, sir, I'll do it. 
 Judson Tyree was as good a friend as a man 
 ever had, and I'll not stand by and watch 
 no such contrivances as these. You ain't 
 got nary men kin to look after you, and I'll 
 do it. That damned Patterson better get 
 away from here and stay away or he might 
 git hurt, and git hurt bad. ' 
 
 136
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "Oh, yo' go home, Bill," urged Zulemmy, 
 who knew that contradicting a drunken 
 man was worse than useless. "Go 'long 
 home an' git to bed. Maybe yo' better 
 leave that gun here I might want hit some 
 day when yo' wasn't round." 
 
 The young man looked stupidly from the 
 revolver to the woman; he stretched out his 
 hand to take the weapon and then drew it 
 back empty. 
 
 "That's right," he said undecidedly, "I'd 
 better leave it here with you. I kin git it 
 when I want it, I reckon. Good night, 
 Zulemmy. Say, ain't you a-goin' to kiss 
 a fellow good-night?" and he laid a hand 
 on one of her shoulders. 
 
 Zulemmy drew back. With all her native 
 coquetry and love of men's admiration, she 
 had a certain dim sense of the proprieties, 
 and, besides, she disliked contact with a 
 man who smelled of liquor. 
 
 "No, sir," she said sharply. "I don't 
 kiss such as yo'. Yo' go 'long out-a here 
 as quick as yo' kin," and her hand stole out 
 towards the revolver. 
 
 Bill's eyes blazed again. "Such as me? 
 I ain't good enough fer you to kiss," 
 he said fiercely. ''You keep your kisses 
 
 137
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 for men like Bruce Patterson; for the man 
 that's got Jud penitentured, and that's a-tryin* 
 to railroad him to Kingdom Come. I see 
 now! He's brought you out here so's 't he 
 can sneak over from the mine when the 
 notion takes him. But this is my house 
 you're in! And I ain't a-goin* to have no 
 such contrivin' as that goin' on round here. 
 I've a good mind to set you out in the road 
 right now," becoming savage at the disdain- 
 ful smile with which she listened to his raving. 
 
 "Oh, come now, Bill!" coaxed the alarmed 
 woman, laying her hand on his sleeve and 
 giving him a little push in the direction of 
 the door while she smiled into the gleaming 
 eyes that threatened her. "Yo' know yo're 
 on'y a-foggin*. Yo' go home an' git some 
 sleep yo re a-needin' hit powerful bad. Of 
 course I ain't aimin* to to kiss yo' yit" 
 and a last apparently playful shove sent 
 the bewildered man reefing unsteadily out 
 of the door and down the slope. 
 
 When Bill Treadway began to drink, his 
 thirst for liquor was not easily Quenched. 
 He was one of the periodical drinkers who 
 can abstain from liquor for weeks and then 
 suddenly yield to the onslaught of a craving 
 that it took weeks to appease. During his 
 
 138
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 drinking times he was apt to brood over some 
 one subject, real or fancied; the harder and 
 deeper he drank, the more vivid his illusions 
 became. 
 
 On the day succeeding his visit to Mrs. 
 Tyree, the men at the Carroll saw-mill found 
 their foreman surly and irritable, his mind 
 and conversation colored by his drunken 
 imaginings, his manner being widely at vari- 
 ance with that of the capable young giant on 
 whom his employer placed much responsi- 
 bility, and who held the goodwill of all under 
 his charge. David Carroll, who happened 
 to pass through the mill in the early afternoon, 
 noticed signs of anxiety in the faces of some 
 of the older men, and later on, from his 
 office window, he saw his foreman start down 
 the road that led to the village, though it 
 lacked more than an hour of the time for the 
 quitting whistle to blow. David was worried, 
 for, even in his drinking periods, Bill had sel- 
 dom, if ever, deserted his post, but had 
 managed to keep his brain sufficiently clear 
 to enable him to perform most of his ordinary 
 duties, although those who watched him 
 were at times cold with fear as he lurched 
 about between the hungry saws and the 
 rapidly revolving bands and belts. 
 
 139
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 After seeing the tall figure turn a bend in 
 the road, Mr. Carroll sat lost in dismay for 
 a time, then he rose and closed his desk, 
 picked up his hat and followed. As he neared 
 the few shabby stores and saloons that make 
 up the business district of Hollywood, he saw 
 Bill in a group of men who were lounging 
 outside of one of the most disreputable of 
 the drinking resorts, and when he came 
 within hearing distance, it was the voice of 
 his truant foreman, that, raised to an un- 
 natural pitch, was claiming the attention 
 of the others. 
 
 "Yes, sir," Bill was saying with the cun- 
 ning leer of a distracted mind, "he's a sly 
 fox, is Bruce Patterson, an' he reckons they 
 learned him some tricks up to that Yankee 
 college of his that none of us pore white 
 trash down this-a-way can see through. But 
 I've been outside some myself, an I 'low 
 I can head him off yet when I git good and 
 ready." 
 
 " Oh, yo' shet up, Billy," said one of the 
 other men lazily as David drew near. " Thet 
 thar's plumb foolishness yo're a-talkin'. Bruce 
 Patterson may ha' made a mistake 'bout 
 this Tyree verdic', but he's a good-meanin' 
 man all right Yo' git them liquor dreams 
 
 140
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 outen yore head, or yo'll be gittin' into 
 trouble. 
 
 "I tell you it's truth Bible truth. Why, 
 what you-all a-reckonin' made him so keen 
 to act on that jury? Jedge would have let 
 him off easy enough. An' they brung in 
 the first verdict of guilty that's been brought 
 in in ary trial for killin' down this-a-way 
 since I can remember. You-all 'lowin* 'twas 
 them other 'leven jurors that fetched it in?" 
 David, who had now reached the group, here 
 stepped forward and took Bill by the arm. 
 
 Come with me, won't you, Treadway?" 
 he asked with composure. "I want your 
 advice about something." 
 
 ^Bill rose and steadied himself against the 
 side of the building, but he shook his head 
 with *ipsy solemnity. 
 
 "I ain't a-goin' back to your mill, Dave 
 Carroll, if that's what yo're a-wantin'. I 
 'low you'll have to git along without me 
 fer awhile; I got to tend to somethin' else." 
 
 David wasted no words, but, stepping into 
 the saloon, spoke to the bar-tender, who in 
 reality was the proprietor of the place. 
 
 "Don't sell Treadway any more liquor 
 if you can avoid it, Newnam," he said with 
 earnestness. " He has some ridiculous notion 
 
 141
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 in that head of his you know how it is with 
 him always when he is drinking and we must 
 try to sober him up and get it out." 
 
 "I'd sure like to oblige yo', Mr. Carroll," 
 the saloon-keeper replied with sincerity, for 
 David was respected and liked by all classes 
 of men, even those who laughed at his philan- 
 thropic schemes, "but yo' know well as me 't 
 ain't always safe not to hand Bill Treadway 
 ary thing he asks for. But I'll do the best 
 I kin," doubtfully. "Thet Tyree verdic' 
 has kind-a upsot things round here," ten- 
 tatively. "Seems to me like 'cause one 
 man's been killed thar ain't much good in 
 killin' another. I ain't got no use fer the 
 feuds, either." 
 
 David slipped out and made one more 
 effort with Bill himself. He knew that the 
 result of the Tyree trial had been a surprise 
 to all the county and that its justice was 
 questioned, and he feared that Bill's mut- 
 terings, even though inspired by a whiskey- 
 inflamed brain, might lead to further hot 
 debate among the less thoughtful men of 
 the community, that would, perhaps, end 
 in a general resentment of Bruce's action. 
 He knew that few would agree with him in 
 his belief as to the underlying cause of Bill 
 
 142
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Treadway's attitude towards Bruce. The 
 young ex-soldier was, possibly, the one man 
 born in that sequestered region who had 
 learned to chafe at the bondage of circum- 
 stance. The native of the Kentucky moun- 
 tains w r ho has never wandered beyond the 
 shadow cast by his own home peak, is the 
 embodiment of true democracy. In his eyes 
 all men are equal; some more blessed by 
 an abundance of material possession, as 
 others have attained to greater bodily strength 
 and stature, and still others to more perfect 
 skill in the use of the shot-gun but the 
 intrinsic value of each son of Adam is to them 
 the same. 
 
 It is only on the few those whom one 
 impulse or another has carried across the 
 rocky walls that enclose these highlands who 
 have beheld the world and the glory thereof 
 that a doubt of the real equality of the 
 race acts like a goad ; either prodding awakened 
 ambition to climb to summits rarely scaled, 
 or irritating less noble qualities to a sulky 
 rebellion against circumscribing conditions. 
 
 David's interpretation of his foreman's 
 dislike for Bruce was that Bill resented 
 his exclusion from the jauntings and junket- 
 ings of w r hich the Patterson homestead had 
 
 143
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 for weeks been the headquarters, and that 
 under cover of his disagreement with the 
 verdict, he wished to avenge what he con- 
 sidered as personal affronts. 
 
 "Come up and have supper with me then, 
 Tread way," David urged, as he repassed 
 the sodden figure on his way to the street. 
 " It will not take any more time to eat a meal 
 in one place than another, and I can talk 
 to you there. Come on! If this happens 
 to be Jinny's day out, Aunt Nora will get up 
 something for us." 
 
 "Go on, Bill," said some of the loafing 
 men, laughing at David's concluding words 
 as at a long-relished joke, but Bill sat still 
 and continued to shake his head solemnly. 
 
 "Can't go this evenin', Carroll," he re- 
 iterated. " Got some other things to 'tend to." 
 
 David walked on slowly, but he was so 
 worried that when his home was reached, 
 the dainty meal served him failed to receive 
 its meed of attention, and his thoughts ran 
 so far from his immediate environment 
 that his habitual reticence became absolute 
 speechlessness. Ordinarily Mrs. Pritchett's 
 tongue was capable of sustaining both sides 
 of a conversation, but tonight she also sat 
 mute, a phenomenon on which her nephew 
 
 144
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 finally made comment. 
 
 " Why are you so quiet this evening, Aunt 
 Nora?" he asked. ''Don't you feel well?" 
 
 "Perfectly well," was her composed re- 
 joinder," but I feel to practice the Golden Rule. 
 You know there are three versions of it. 
 When I went to Sabbath school they learned 
 us to say 'Do as you would be done by'; 
 in China, those heathen claim it is * Do not 
 do to others what you would not have others 
 do to you'; and there is, or ought to be, 
 another version, 'Do to others as you see 
 them do to others.' If we all had courage 
 to act on that last rule, I guess the millenium 
 would come along a little faster. Lots of 
 folks are surly, or peevish, or naggy that 
 don't suspicion they are so or don't know 
 that other folks see that they are so. Now, 
 you I wonder if you realize how close- 
 mouthed you are at times ?" 
 
 "I believe Robert Burns said something 
 like that once, didn't he?" suggested the 
 young man with a smile, ignoring the personal 
 application of his aunt's remark. 
 
 ' Well, if he did, it's more decent than any 
 of his sayings I ever come across, though I 
 can't say I've read much of what he wrote, 
 either. When I was a young girl, I picked 
 
 145
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 up a volume of his poems once, and the first 
 thing my eye fell on was some lines headed 
 * To a ' ... a ... certain insect . . . * on a 
 lady's bonnet in church,' and thinks I, 
 if thafs Burns's poetry I'd like to know what 
 his prose would be like! For many a Sunday 
 after, I used to sit in church and feel all creepy, 
 imagining I could see .... certain insects 
 .... crawling round on the women's hats. 
 Poetry!" 
 
 Her nephew laughed, and after a time said: 
 "I tried to bring a guest to help eat your 
 short-cake, Aunt Nora Bill Tread way but 
 I could not induce him to come. He is off 
 on another drunk, and, as usual, has some 
 wild notion in his head that he keeps harping 
 on," and he related what he had overheard. 
 "More likely Zulemmy's been rolling her 
 eyes up at him, and asking for his sympathy. 
 Zulemmy likes the sympathy of good-looking 
 men. Probably that's all that ails Bill, and 
 if we sober him up he'll forget it. I don't 
 know as it would do any harm to see Zulemmy 
 and caution her to be careful how she talks, ' 
 she continued as David's face still expressed 
 worriment. "She ain't a girl that's given 
 to much speech but she's got the trick 
 of making her wants known without saying 
 
 146
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 anything, and she may have some wrong 
 notion about the verdict. Letishy Patterson 
 has!" 
 
 "I will try to see her," David answered. 
 " Don't you want to ride out there with me some 
 evening ?" 
 
 " And run the risk of pitching headforemost 
 down the ravine to learn what mischief 
 Zulemmy Tyree is mixed up in now? No, 
 thank you! Go tomorrow night, David. 
 You can ride out on horseback and you 
 could call at the Pattersons' on your way 
 back and see how things are there." 
 
 "Bruce is away from home at present, 
 I understand." 
 
 " Well, there's other members of that family 
 besides Bruce. There's Madame Letishy 
 Phelps Patterson, and there's Miss Patterson, 
 though she won't be there a great sight 
 longer if some of those Blue Grass beaux 
 of hers have their say-so. Folks are telling 
 about a queer state of affairs up at that 
 place, David. They say the New England 
 lady has set herself to overturn and knock 
 out the proceedings of a Kentucky court 
 of law, that Letishy makes no bones of 
 telling her husband he was wrong in that 
 verdict that he'll be a murderer if he lets 
 
 147
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the law take its course in the Tyree case 
 and that he has got to crawfish and work 
 to free Tyree. Ain't that a peck of half 
 bushels for you? Bruce Patterson!" She 
 sniffed contemptuously. 
 
 "Of course, as she thinks, there may be 
 evidence that would clear Tyree," suggested 
 David. " A great many believe him innocent." 
 
 "Believe him innocent because he has 
 been proven guilty," said Mrs. Pritchett, 
 walking impatiently to the window. "I've 
 heard of that kind of hysterical belief before." 
 Then, as David rose, she turned upon him 
 and said impressively : 
 
 " David, if ever you should come to knuckle 
 under to your wife like that, I'll take my 
 slipper to you," and she thrust forth a foot 
 of such proportions that it was easy to infer 
 that the threatened penalty would involve 
 no trifling bodily discomfort. 
 
 148
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE typical southern girl is pretty, fond 
 of admiration, a votary of pleasure and an 
 adept in the wiles that disturb masculine 
 equanimity; the typical southern belle sur- 
 passes her sisters only in the degree to which 
 she is possessed of all these traits. Probably 
 none of Columbia's daughters receive such 
 homage as she, for the typical southern 
 man, old or young, is susceptible to feminine 
 charms, and has still in his blood the element 
 of gallantry that characterized his ardent 
 forbears. 
 
 To say that a girl as pretty and unspoiled 
 as Mary Joyce Patterson enjoyed the triumphs 
 of her first winter of belledom would be to 
 present her state of mind too mildly. Unlike 
 her chums from homes in the more settled 
 parts of the state, she had tasted few of the 
 delights of social success during her school- 
 days, for her vacations were always spent 
 in her Hollywood home, where the frolics 
 of the neighborhood were "apple parin's," 
 " bean-stringin's, " and the like combinations 
 of the domestic and the frivolous, and where 
 
 149
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 a moonlight ride up the river on the " big ferry " 
 was a wild dissipation to be thereafter referred 
 to with bated breath. 
 
 Joyce had not been unhappy in her secluded 
 girlhood, for she was fond of her mountain 
 home, she adored her uncle and cousin, 
 she enjoyed the innocent vagaries of Mrs. 
 Pritchett, and she cared more for David 
 Carroll than she had ever owned to herself. 
 At the time of her cousin Bruce's marriage 
 in the North, the maiden suffered some 
 natural pangs of jealousy and disappointment 
 at the tidings that another was to be installed 
 as mistress of the Patterson home, an honor 
 she had grown to look upon as hers by right 
 of possession. During the days when the 
 two were forming acquaintance with each 
 other, Letitia had exercised upon this enthu- 
 siastic girl relative, as she did upon any 
 stranger that held her interest, all tne super- 
 ficial charm of her individuality that on 
 prolonged companionship was apt to lose 
 its potency. During her last months as a 
 resident pupil in the old seminary that had 
 been selected for her alma mater, it was 
 "Cousin Letitia" that Joyce quoted to her 
 mates ad nauseam, and the girl had looked 
 forward to residence in the old home, after 
 
 150
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 she should have bidden a final farewell to 
 her life as student, with the liveliest antici- 
 pations. 
 
 Before the frost had nipped the leaves into 
 vivid color, however, her hazel eyes had 
 more than once been veiled behind their 
 long lashes, to conceal the flashes of anger 
 kindled in them by the northern bride's 
 ungracious manner towards her husband. 
 Joyce had all her days looked up to her 
 cousin Bruce as the personification of an 
 ideal manhood; she had respected the up- 
 rightness of his character, esteemed his mental 
 ability, and idolized his every attribute. To 
 see him weakly submit to an unjustifiable 
 tyranny was like beholding a sculptured god 
 stoop from his pedestal at the caprice of an 
 inferior creature. 
 
 It is always harrowing to hear the object 
 of one's highest adoration belittled, and this 
 painful experience, combined with her woman- 
 like rebellion against David Carroll's un- 
 warranted appropriation of herself, sent the 
 young girl away to the gaieties to which she 
 had been bidden for her first season of emanci- 
 pation from books, feverishly eager to find 
 a new channel into which her perturbed 
 thoughts might turn. 
 
 151
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 The weeks after her return to Hollywood 
 from a prolonged series of festivities in which 
 she had shone paramount, were but repetitions 
 of her triumphs in the ball-room amid the 
 calm of the mountains. She was young, 
 high spirited, and a daughter of Eve, and she 
 was intoxicated by the homage paid her 
 beauty, and smiled upon the bold bids for 
 her favor. But, while she kept her place, 
 outwardly happy and serene in the circle 
 of gay butterflies that had flown after her, 
 she often had to mask her indignation at 
 the undignified role assigned to her Cousin 
 Bruce in the home where his will should 
 have been supreme, and to conceal under a 
 cloak of indifference her hurt surprise at 
 David Carroll's cold aloofness. 
 
 As the burning noons of midsummer 
 approached, the guests that had with such 
 fervor taken advantage of the hospitality 
 of the mountains all betook themselves to 
 the sea-shore, or to the more accessible 
 shades of nearby "Springs," and at the time 
 the Tyree case was being tried, while Bruce 
 was acting as juryman, the space between 
 the two ladies who faced each other from 
 opposite sides of the Patterson dining-table 
 was only occupied occasionally by the most 
 
 152
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 persistent of the suitors. 
 
 Joyce felt a certain sense of relief at this 
 absence of her cousin from his home, though 
 she missed the ready sympathy of his life-long 
 comradeship, but Letitia was more endurable 
 when apart from her husband and not 
 engrossed in detecting and criticising his every 
 error. On the other hand, Letitia, who, 
 in her selfish way, loved her husband, was 
 depressed by his absence and jealous of this 
 unforeseen claim upon him to which he had 
 so needlessly acceded. 
 
 The advent of Mrs. Tyree and her ragged 
 children was a godsend to the two forced into 
 so intimate and uncomfortable a companion- 
 ship, as it supplied a common interest and 
 occupation. Letitia, who each day grew more 
 indignant at Bruce's continued exile, spent 
 hours in talking with Zulemmy, and seized 
 at the vague admissions of the chameleon- 
 like woman as the basis for her decision 
 regarding the murder, and lost no time in 
 announcing that in her opinion the jury had 
 no other alternative than to acquit Tyree. 
 She was sure that with Bruce as one of their 
 number, the twelve men would not dare 
 follow the precedent long since established 
 in that section in trials for a like crime, 
 
 153
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and be discharged for a claimed disagreement. 
 
 The consequence of the adverse verdict 
 on the atmosphere of the Patterson home- 
 stead, as told, was to augment the current 
 of friction and unrest with which it was 
 already charged, and poor Miss Ma'y Joyce, 
 fretted by the needless complications with 
 which her cousin's w r ife burdened the most 
 trivial act, and more than all by Bruce's 
 unmanly efforts to ingratiate himself in the 
 favor of the woman whose constant endeavor 
 was to impress upon him the fallibility of his 
 judgment, often longed for some spot to which 
 she could flee for a respite from the strain 
 of existing conditions. 
 
 One morning, after Bruce, goaded by his 
 wife's incessant urgence, had set forth to 
 thoroughly investigate the unpromising clews 
 furnished by Zulemmy's desultory remarks, 
 clews that Letitia insisted would prove the 
 innocence of the man now condemned to die, 
 Joyce felt so ill at ease that she would gladly 
 have welcomed the most shallow-pated of all 
 her adorers as a diversion from the stress of 
 the one topic by which all minds in the 
 vicinity were now disturbed and haunted, 
 when, all of a sudden, she bethought her 
 of the message that Baity Treadway had 
 
 154
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 sent her. She impulsively sprang to her 
 feet, ordered her horse saddled, and, running 
 to her room, began to rummage through her 
 bags and boxes for such of her unworn 
 furbelows as could suitably be added to the 
 simple trousseau of a mountain bride. Once 
 mounted, she started her horse up the steep, 
 winding road, with a sensation of pleased 
 expectancy that she did not try to fathom. 
 The beauty of the morning, the long vista 
 of cool green that opened before her, the 
 cheery caroling of the birds, the pungent 
 odors that the undergrowth, pressed by the 
 horse's feet, gave forth, all combined to revive 
 her weary spirits, and it was with the sweet 
 jubilance of care-free youth that she called 
 a greeting to the snowy-haired patriarch, 
 Grandpap Treadway, who sat beneath the 
 very trees he had set out during his honey- 
 moon, more than six decades before. 
 
 The delight of the old man when he recog- 
 nized his charming visitor, who came down 
 the path from the bars, leading her horse, 
 was touching. His bearing had in it the 
 loving reverence of a loyal old courtier for 
 a young queen, and it was only when Baity, 
 who had run out at his summons, and who 
 was as delighted as her grandfather at the 
 
 155
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 coming of her friend, insisted that it was too 
 sunny out-of-doors and more comfortable 
 under the roof, that he ceased his reminiscent 
 tales of Joyce's Uncle Hiram, and of her 
 mother, whom he said he was proud to have 
 seen twice during her visit to the Patterson 
 home, in the days immediately following 
 her marriage to a younger son of that family. 
 In Balty's room, shared at night by two 
 brothers and one sister the two girls confided, 
 exhibited, admired, giggled and chattered, 
 as in the days when they had attended a 
 private school at Winchester. Baity, with 
 many blushes, at length consented to slip 
 into the simple white gown, already completed 
 and laid by, that was to be worn on her wed- 
 ding day, and as she stood arrayed in its soft 
 folds, tall and stately, with that illusive 
 quality termed style dignifying her pose, 
 
 L v / O v ^j JL 
 
 Joyce felt that among all her more recently 
 made friends, there was not one with whom 
 this maid of the mountains need fear com- 
 parison. The laces and chiffons that she 
 had selected with some misgiving as to their 
 fitness, seemed none too fine for the adornment 
 of this bonnie lass, whose clear eyes clouded 
 with grateful tears as she attempted to stam- 
 mer her thanks for the gifts. 
 
 156
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Time fled with such rapidity that both 
 of the girls were astonished when they were 
 called to the noonday meal, at which Joyce, 
 with thrills of guilty delight, followed some 
 of the local customs in preparing her food. 
 She raised the upper crust of a generous 
 slice of pie, spread sourwood honey over the 
 apple filling, and then patted the pastry 
 into place again; she cut a raw onion into 
 her dish of long pod beans, that had been 
 boiled with chunks of salt pork for hours, 
 and she managed to drink a glass of corn 
 beer, a beverage she had previously abhorred, 
 but which, as a feature of the old life so rapidly 
 passing away, was more easily swallowed. 
 Old Gran'pap and Balty's mother, a middle- 
 aged matron, whose speech was rendered 
 indistinct by the fact that the front of her 
 upper jaw was destitute of teeth, vied with 
 each other in pressing the viands upon their 
 guest, until she vowed that not one other 
 bite could she take. 
 
 After the district school, some half mile 
 up the road, "let out," the youngsters belong- 
 ing to those offshoots of the family tree that 
 had taken root within walking distance, 
 crowded in to see the fascinating visitor, 
 whose stock of entrancing "tales" lasted 
 
 157
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 until the sun dropped behind the peaks 
 to the west, when they invited her to join 
 them in the local games that are as novel 
 to the outside world as are many of the habits 
 of speech and life that are practiced in this 
 isolated locality. When " Skip-t-m-loo " had 
 stolen Joyce for his partner so often that she 
 was giddy from whirling, she begged for a 
 less violent amusement. 
 
 "Play 'Wonder where Maria's gone?' 
 children," suggested Gran'pap, who, from 
 his seat in the dog-trot, was enjoying the 
 romp as heartily as the smallest toddler. 
 "I 'low Mary Joyce ain't played that game 
 for a powerful spell." 
 
 The boys chose partners, the shyest and 
 most awkward choosing Joyce, and two lines, 
 one all boys and the other all girls, were 
 formed and faced each other, while all sang: 
 
 M ft Moamto > - 
 
 Wonder where Maria's gone? Wonder where Maria's gone? 
 
 Wonder where Maria's gone? So ear-rye in the morning. 
 
 During the singing, the girl at the head 
 crosses over and creeps quietly down behind 
 the boys, her partner crossing in his turn 
 
 158
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and pretending to search for her back of the 
 line of girls while the second verse is sung : 
 
 ' ' 'Spec' she's gone to seek her love 
 'Spec' she's gone to seek her love, 
 'Spec' she's gone to seek her love, 
 So eaxlye in the morning." 
 
 At the beginning of the third verse they sang, 
 
 " Yander she comes! How-dye do! " 
 
 the partners meeting at the foot of the two 
 lines and shaking each other's hand with 
 great solemnity. 
 
 The fourth verse runs, 
 
 " Take a sweet kiss and pass right through," 
 
 but the embrace is ordinarily omitted, the 
 mountaineers being an undemonstrative folk, 
 who regard a kiss as something too sacred to 
 be made part of a frolic; so Maria and her 
 partner simply walk back to their original 
 places. During the last verse: 
 
 "Right hand first an' then the left, 
 So earlye in the morning:" 
 
 the same couple come down the lines swinging 
 alternately with the other boys and girls and 
 with each other, much as in a Virginia Reel. 
 
 In fact the mountain "games" are most 
 of them old-fashioned dances, but the religious 
 
 159
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 sentiment being strongly against dancing, 
 the distinction has been made that a " dance * 
 requires an instrumental accompaniment, 
 while the music for the "games" is sung. 
 
 When the time came for Joyce and her 
 partner to execute the proper evolutions, 
 the lad had passed from the superlative 
 bashfulness that is as painful as a disease 
 to a counterfeit boldness, and during the 
 singing of the fourth verse, before any one 
 could guess his intention, he had kissed the 
 pink cheek nearest him with a resounding 
 smack, leaving the girl herself and all of his 
 kin helpless with astonishment and laughter. 
 Gran'pap was specially edified by this audacity 
 on the part of his great-grandson, and laughed 
 and applauded until he was exhausted. 
 
 "Wen-ell! So now, sonny!" he exclaimed. 
 "You favor ol' Gran'pap when he was young 
 more 'an in looks. Up an' bussed Mary 
 Joyce Patterson as cool as a cowcumber! ' 
 and he crowed and chuckled to himself 
 after he was too weak and hoarse for speech. 
 
 The boy, like many another of his kind, 
 was really appalled by his own temerity, but 
 as Joyce only laughed with the others, his 
 flaming cheeks soon cooled, and he went 
 strutting about with all the swagger of a 
 
 160
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 half -grown Lothario. At supper time, when 
 the men of the different families assembled 
 "to Gran'pap's" in obedience to messages 
 sent them by their respective wives, the tale 
 was told over and over again, and both the 
 lad and Joyce were made targets for a running 
 fire of jokes. So good-natured was this 
 teasing, however, that Joyce joked with the 
 rest and took it as part of the day's fun. 
 All the cares that a few hours earlier had 
 weighed so heavily upon her had vanished 
 under the influence of this perfect good- 
 fellowship and simple affection, and she 
 became as joyous and light of heart as of old. 
 
 As the ever enlarging assembly sat about 
 on the edges of the dog-trot, on the stairs, 
 anywhere that offered space, eating water- 
 melon and such of the more substantial 
 refreshments as could be foraged from the 
 table, Bill Treadway appeared coming down 
 the slope of the farm. The story of his 
 young cousin's prowess was shouted to him 
 by a dozen childish voices while he made 
 his way up to the table and spoke to the guest 
 of honor. 
 
 "Well, now, Will- John," he said, when 
 greetings were over, "I always said they done 
 right to name you after me. That's exactly 
 
 161
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 what I'd have done myself if I'd been lucky 
 enough to stand in your shoes," with a bold 
 glance at Joyce. "As the rest of you folks 
 have been havin' your fun all evenin', reckon I 
 got to get what's a-comin' to me now," and 
 he obliged one of the elder women, who sat 
 in the chair next to Joyce at the table, to give 
 up her place to him. Joyce could catch the 
 fumes of liquor as the young man leaned 
 over her, but he was not badly intoxicated, 
 and the others present showed no fear nor 
 anxiety, so she did not permit herself to be 
 annoyed by the coming of this black sheep 
 of the Tread way flock. 
 
 "Joyce is a-goin' to be my bridesmaid, 
 Bill," said Baity, when she brought her 
 uncle a cup of coffee. 
 
 "An hit's a-goin' to be in the school-house 
 Joyce said so, an' we're a-goin' to fix hit 
 up all pretty with branches an' posies, an' 
 Miss Sue Belle Adams is a-comin' out to play 
 the music for Baity an' Jim to march to, ' 
 chorused the youngsters wild with excitement 
 and wonder over this prospective festivity. 
 
 ''You young ones clear out," said Bill. 
 
 'You'd ought to ask me to stand up with 
 
 Miss Patterson, Baity," stretching one arm 
 
 across the back of Joyce's chair. "How's 
 
 162
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 that, Gran'pap?" he shouted to the old 
 gentleman who sat smiling and nodding at 
 the head of the table. "I'd ought to be best 
 man at Balty's weddin', hadn't I ?" 
 
 "No one need stand with me," said Joyce, 
 shrinking from the flushed face and gleaming 
 eyes so near her. "At all the weddings now 
 they have a maid of honor who walks alone. 
 I'll be your maid of honor, Baity." 
 
 " Aw, come now," protested the man. " You 
 can't get out of it that-a-way." 
 
 "Anyhow, Bill," said the bride-elect, 
 "Jim's a'ready asked David Carroll to be 
 best man, an* I reckon the best man gets 
 the best girl ary time. Ain't that so, Joyce ?" 
 
 Joyce's cheeks were flooded with color, 
 but she was spared the necessity of a reply, 
 as Bill's big voice broke in again: 
 
 "Jim Morgan knows what side his bread 
 is buttered on," he said with an ugly grin. 
 " Trust him for workin' in with the boss. 
 He's on'y fishin' for a weddin' gif, an' mebbe 
 Dave'll be so tickled when he learns who he's 
 to stand up with, he'll make Jim a present 
 of half the mill no tellin'. I don't know 
 as I'd blame him for doin' it, either," with a 
 leer at the girl beside him. 
 
 " Air yo' an' Dave Carroll a-talkin' ?" 
 
 163
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 asked one of the older women of Joyce, 
 using this mountain phrase for courtsnip, 
 while the younger girls present giggled at 
 the blunt demand for information on so 
 delicate a matter. 
 
 "Why! Hush up! How you-all go on!" 
 ejaculated Baity. 'I never neerd nary such 
 foolish question." 
 
 "Weh-ell!" retorted the woman in defense 
 of her query, "I 'low they was a-talkin' 
 las' fall. I seen 'em onct out horsebackin', 
 an' hit looked mighty like they was a-talkin', 
 to me." 
 
 "I reckon Jim'll be extry late in gettin' 
 round this evenin'," said Bill. " He s got 
 to do double duty at the mill these days 
 I ain't been thar," and he scowled at his 
 own thoughts. " An' so Mr. Bruce Patterson's 
 away from home again," he said directly 
 to Joyce, as he pushed back his chair and 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 "Bruce's away right smart of the time 
 these days, ain't he ?" asked one of the other 
 men carelessly. "What's he a-doin' outside 
 now anyhow ?" 
 
 "That's jus* what you don't find out," 
 answered Bill angrily " you nor nobody else, 
 damn him." 
 
 164
 
 "Bruce Patterson is a good man," quavered 
 Gran'pap who had caught the name. "He 
 favors his pappy, an' Hiram was the bes' 
 human I ever knowed. Bruce, he's been 
 makin' some mistakes, mebbe, an' he's 
 boun' to pay for 'em, but he'll come out all 
 right yit, don't yo' be fearin' bouten thet." 
 
 The children had begun to run up to say 
 good-bye, and Joyce was led off by a group 
 of them. As she left, she overheard one of 
 Bill's sisters tell him to "shet up an' not be 
 a-gassin' that-a-way yo' an' Gran'pap. I'm 
 plumb ashamed o' yore manners!" 
 
 "Why," rejoined Bill angrily, "ary one 
 knows that Bruce ain't none too happy in 
 his own home, an' like ary man since 
 Adam, he's been a-peepin' over the bars into 
 his neighbor's pasture, where there's richer 
 feedin'." 
 
 All his hearers looked at him in bewilder- 
 ment, and he explained: 
 
 "What you-all believe he brung in that 
 verdic' fer? An' now they say he's away 
 a-workin' an' a-schemin' to keep 'em from 
 grantin' that pore cuss, Jud Tyree, another 
 chanct fer his life, an* he's got Jud's wife 
 fixed up right out here near his mine. But 
 Zulemmy's a good girl, an' a damn pretty 
 
 165
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 one, an' I'm a-goin' . . ." 
 
 "Ho! yo' shet up such gab," interrupted 
 one of the men. " Yo' mus' o' got a double 
 mixtery in yore head this eveninY 
 
 Bill growled but made no other reply, and a 
 moment later walked away and disappeared. 
 
 Joyce was glad to miss him from the group 
 that walked with her to the bars, and that 
 one of the other young men lifted her into 
 the saddle. One of the younger couples, 
 who lived near Hollywood, rode with her, 
 the two on one horse, and the shouts of fare- 
 well to the three were repeated until they 
 had nearly reached Bill's cabin. There bars 
 of light streamed across the road from the 
 open door and through the unfinished lattice 
 screen. The animals and their riders natu- 
 rally turned their heads towards the light, 
 and Joyce's heart stood still at what she 
 saw within the building. 
 
 Just beyond the door sat Zulemmy, clad 
 in one of her new gowns, a scarlet bow in 
 her dusky hair, her full red lips smiling 
 mischievously, her handsome eyes upturned 
 to a man who stood near her talking earnestly, 
 as though arguing with her. The masculine 
 figure was only partially visible to the passers- 
 by and no part of his face could be seen by 
 
 166
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 them, but from his gestures one could only 
 infer that he was passionately pleading with 
 his coquettish companion. 
 
 Joyce turned her eyes quickly away, but a 
 cold chill ran over her as sne recognized 
 David Carroll's trim figure. She heard the 
 two on the other horse laugh together and 
 heard Bill Tread way's name whispered, and 
 she clutched at the possibility that the man 
 back in the cabin might be Treadway. He 
 had not been with the others at her leave- 
 taking, and he might have slipped into his 
 best coat and hurried over to visit Mrs. 
 Tyree. There could have been no question 
 of mistaking anv of the other young moun- 
 taineers for David, but Bill's military training 
 had taught him to hold himself erect, to keep 
 his face shaven and his hair trimly clipped, 
 and at a casual glance the backs of the two 
 men were not dissimilar. This modest, fas- 
 tidious girl, who had grown to maidenhood 
 in a household of which she was the only 
 feminine member, had in spite of this fact 
 or because of it learned little or nothing 
 of the black depths of passion that underlie 
 the fair surface of organized society. Of 
 course, she had read books that hinted at 
 secret pages in the history of some men, but 
 
 167
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 she had always thought of them as belonging 
 to a lower, more grossly minded class. And 
 now? 
 
 She rode on in silence, not knowing nor 
 caring whether her companions spoke to 
 her or not. From chill numbness her sensa- 
 tion changed to burning heat; she drove 
 her nails fiercely into her soft palms in agony 
 as she struggled against the impulse to turn 
 back, to confront those two in the cabin 
 the woman whose husband was yet alive, 
 and the man who could take advantage of 
 a husband's absence; to drag David away 
 from those red, smiling lips, those dark, 
 seductive eyes. 
 
 Yet why should she object if this man 
 chose to spend his leisure with an ignorant 
 woman, a married woman who had once 
 been a servant in his own home? What 
 was it to her? An outrage, of course, but 
 the outrage would be the same whether the 
 man were David or Bill; yet she could think 
 quite calmly of Bill in such a position, while 
 the possibility that it might be David drove 
 all her blood raging through her veins. What 
 was the meaning of her wildly throbbing 
 heart, of the stifling anguish that was rending 
 her? Was it that to her David was some- 
 
 168
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 thing more than other men? Was it that 
 she loved him ? Did she did she did she ? 
 Could she love a man who could stoop to so 
 vulgar an intrigue ? 
 
 Then as the fever cooled and her pulse 
 grew more regular, she reasoned that it 
 might not have been David after all; it might 
 have been Bill Treadway of course it was 
 Bill Treadway. Slowly she roused to full 
 consciousness of her whereabouts. She heard 
 the toneless trill of the tree-toads, the hoarse 
 rattle of the crickets, the cheep of nesting 
 birds, and woven through all the other 
 voices of the night, the endless quarrel 
 of the katydids: " Did did did ! Didn't 
 didn't did!" 
 
 She knew when home was reached at last, 
 that she was lifted from her horse by her 
 cousin Bruce, who had unexpectedly returned 
 during the day, that she said something to 
 Letitia. Then she stumbled up to her room, 
 and groping about in the dark, like one whose 
 wounded eyes fear the light, undressed and 
 crept into her bed. It was the shock of mis- 
 recognition that had upset her so, she repeated 
 to herself over and over again. Of course 
 she did not care so deeply for David Carroll 
 and his affairs certainly she did not 
 
 169
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 she did not love him of that she was 
 
 quite, quite sure. 
 
 She wooed sleep by every device she had 
 ever learned, but all in vain, for between 
 her cheek and the pillow there was an endless 
 beating, like a voice repeating one word; 
 or was it one of those quarrelsome insects 
 that had followed her in and was reiterating 
 the assertion . . . "Did did did! Did 
 did did!" 
 
 170
 
 IT WAS with loitering, reluctant steps that 
 Joyce went down to breakfast the next morn- 
 ing. For the first time in her life she was 
 painfully self-conscious, for she felt as if 
 the revelations of the previous night had 
 left traces upon her face that he who ran 
 might interpret. She had prepared herself 
 to parry or evade any inquiries in regard 
 to her changed appearance, and with the 
 inconsistency of her sex, she was chagrined, 
 not to say hurt, that of the two who awaited 
 her coming, one only jokingly complimented 
 her on the increased splendor of her bloom, 
 and the other peevishly envied her her care- 
 free lot. 
 
 Bruce looked haggard and distressed; in 
 his eyes burned the fever of one who seeks to 
 avert a threatened doom. He had returned 
 from a fruitless quest only that he might 
 plan other methods for liberating the prisoner 
 Tyree, and at the same time free his own 
 future from the haunting doubts that he 
 could foresee would pursue him to his grave, 
 if through his instrumentality a fellow man 
 
 171
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 should meet an ignominious death. The 
 theory that justice is mercy, mercy to thou- 
 sands born and unborn, no longer had power 
 to calm his spasms of terrified remorse. 
 By what right did human law demand life 
 for We? By whose authority did it saddle 
 a man, or a body of men, with the awful 
 responsibility of such decisions ? 
 
 He tried to talk with his wife, with Joyce 
 when the latter came down, but all the while 
 he was tormented by his own thoughts. 
 The fact that Letitia still stubbornly urged 
 him to persist in searching for the truth along 
 the lines that she prescribed made no impres- 
 sion on him; to a man in mortal anguish 
 a pin-prick more or less is unfelt. 
 
 Both husband and wife were unwontedly 
 silent and distraught and to relieve the strained 
 situation Jovce laughed and chattered as 
 was her habit, longing all the while to shake 
 Bruce out of what seemed to her an unmanly 
 mood, and to confound Letitia by the feminine 
 offering of a " piece of her mind." Managing 
 to control both these desires during the un- 
 comfortable meal, she slipped away as soon 
 as it was over and ran down the long side slope 
 of the yard to where a hammock swung 
 in a clump of trees. Here she lay, looking 
 
 172
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 up through the flickering network of leaves 
 to the clear blue dome far above, and strug- 
 gling with an impulse that, at last, overpowered 
 her. Then she stole through the trees to 
 the stable, ordered her horse saddled once 
 more, and was soon riding over the road 
 along which she had travelled so happily 
 the preceding morn, and by which she had 
 returned, a stricken creature, in the dusk 
 of the early night. Strive as she would, 
 her heart had failed to convince her reason 
 that, beyond all peradventure, it was Bill 
 Treadway who had taken the man's part 
 in the tableau revealed to her by the gaps 
 in the lattice screen. She was urging upon 
 her mind now, that if the man she had seen 
 with Zulemmy had not been David Carroll, 
 she owed it to him to clear away every tinge 
 of doubt, and to this end she had resolved 
 to ascertain from Mrs. Tyree herself, who 
 had been her visitor on the foregoing night. 
 It did not occur to the girl that the investiga- 
 tion on which she was bent might be fraught 
 with keen embarrassment for her, until she 
 spied Zulemmy hanging some small garments 
 on the bushes that overgrew the angle in 
 the rail fence that enclosed the Treadway 
 acres. It was then too late to retreat, for 
 
 173
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the woman had already seen her and was smil- 
 ing lazily and calling " Howdy/' 
 
 "Yo' aimin' to come in today?" Mrs. 
 Tyree asked in the accent of one wno presses 
 her hospitality, for she welcomed any excuse 
 for ceasing her labors, and she disliked 
 solitude, and, walking to the narrow gate, 
 she held it open for Joyce to ride in. * I'm 
 jes' powerful tickled to see yo'," she continued, 
 as her visitor dismounted and threw her 
 bridle over a limb of a convenient bush. 
 "How yo-all down to yore house? I been 
 aimin' to come-by an' say howdy ever' day 
 this week, but I ain't got thar yit. 'Low 
 Aunt Philomee mus' be a-worritin' 'bout 
 me an' a-wishin' fo' me powerful bad," 
 and she laughed with indolent good-humor 
 in which a spice of mischief lurked. "She's 
 a good human, Aunt Philomee is, if she is a 
 nigger, but she's sure tetchy." 
 
 "She likes to keep what is hers," Joyce 
 could not forbear from saying, while ner 
 color rose at the double meaning her words 
 had for herself, though she was aware that 
 Zulemmy would make no personal application 
 of them. In fact her hostess continued to 
 show such appreciation of the visit, and 
 was so frankly hospitable and replete with 
 
 174
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 goodwill, that Joyce grew ashamed of the 
 real purpose of her ride and lost the ugly 
 misgivings that had disturbed her, as she 
 replied to queries regarding everything on 
 the Patterson place, including the animals 
 and the cistern. 
 
 "How's baby?" she asked in her turn, 
 after a time, looking over to the corner of 
 the floor, where, on a folded quilt, the almost 
 nude infant lay fast asleep. 
 
 "Ho, Ula Bell's real peart; but hit's the 
 mos' contrairy chile," was the mother's re- 
 sponse, and as that same instant the blue 
 eyes opened wide and a fat leg was flung 
 high in air: "Thar now! Look at that! 
 Ain't hit the mos' contrairy chile? Hit's 
 a-teethin', too, an' I had Noc ketch a moth- 
 miller, an' tried to git hit to bite on hits tail, 
 yo' know thet's good for teethin', but hit 
 wouldn't give nary bite, hit's that contrairy. 
 Noc, he's a-goin' to school, 'long of some 
 of the Tread way boys. There's right smart 
 of 'em round this-a-way. He seen yo' over 
 to Gran'pap's yes'day evenin', a-playin' 
 games with the young ones, an' he cried some 
 to go over thar too, but he was mindin' 
 Ula Bell, an' I 'lowed thar was 'nough over 
 yan 'thout 'em. Gran'pap's got a powerful 
 
 175
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 lot o' kin." 
 
 "Yes," replied Joyce slowly, wondering 
 if she might use this opening to say some- 
 thing about Bill and so lead up to the events 
 of the night before; but not seeing just how 
 to do so, she picked up the baby, who still 
 sprawled on the quilt, and tossed and played 
 with her. 
 
 "I must go back before the sun gets too 
 high," she said, while she patty-caked the 
 pudgy hands of the infant now seated upon 
 her lap. "I'd take Noc down with me if 
 he were here he might think it was fun to 
 ride down for the day and play in that cave 
 he was burrowing when he was there. My 
 Cousin Bruce is very fond of the little fellow. ' 
 
 "He'd sure be plumb tickled to go 'long 
 with yo' if he was home," answered his step- 
 mother, "but school ain't let loose yit, an* 
 I don' know as teacher would like to hev 
 me fetch him off. Is Bruce home now ?" 
 
 There was a shade of worriment in the 
 dark eyes as this question was asked, that 
 Joyce construed to mean that Zulemmy 
 was anxious to know what progress had been 
 made toward the release of her husband, 
 and with the memory of the scene in this 
 same room the night before in her mind, 
 
 176
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her voice was filled with scorn as she said 
 shortly : 
 
 "Yes he is at home." Then she rose and 
 carried the baby back to the improvised cot 
 on the floor. 'Now, Miss U. B., you are 
 to go straight back to dreamland," she said 
 as she stooped to lay the plump body down. 
 As she did this, her eye fell on a bit of crumpled 
 cloth that the quilt partly covered, and she 
 mechanically leaned further forward and 
 picked it up. She felt the next instant as if 
 all the blood in her body had rushed to her 
 face, for she at once recognized the fine linen 
 square as one of the dozen men's handker- 
 chiefs she had been commissioned by Mrs. 
 Pritchett to buy and send down from Louis- 
 ville the winter before. Yes, it certainly 
 was one of that self-same box, as there was 
 a peculiarity about the hems that had caught 
 her fancy when she made the purchase and 
 by whicn she easily identified it now. She 
 held it in her hand while she looked straight 
 at the woman who brought such sorrow and 
 trouble in her wake, and the young eyes 
 turned steely and the soft lips stiffened with 
 contempt. Zulemmy in the full glare of 
 day, and before she had taken time to brush 
 put her mop of hair and arrange her clothing, 
 
 177
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 lacked much of the wild beauty that was, 
 at times, hers; and to this exquisitely neat 
 maiden, the slovenly, unkempt figure that 
 she confronted was entirely without grace 
 or charm. 
 
 It is always difficult for a woman of refined 
 tastes and sensibilities to comprehend the 
 attraction the Carmen type has for men. 
 
 "Thet's Dave Carroll's, I reckon," said 
 Zulemmy, frankly unmindful of the abrupt 
 change in the look and manner of her caller. 
 "He mus' hev left hit here las' evenin'. I 
 was aimin' to git Bill or some of the Treadway 
 kin to take hit down to him." 
 
 "I will take it," said Joyce with a sudden 
 resolution, tucking the scrap of linen into 
 the pocket of her coat. Then she hastened 
 out and mounted her horse, making but scant 
 response to the farewells and messages that 
 the unperturbed Zulemmy called after her. 
 
 The gossamer square seemed to weigh 
 tons as the girl rode back along the edge of 
 the road. There could no longer be any 
 doubt as to the identity of the man she had 
 seen through the broken lattice, and the 
 waves of grief that now threatened to engulf 
 all the brightness of her life made the reply 
 to her heart that she had hitherto refused 
 
 178
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to give. Craving solitude like any wounded 
 creature, she turned her horse from the road 
 into the timberland at one side. When she 
 had come to a point where there was no 
 possibility of being spied by a passer-by, she 
 pulled the handkerchief from its hiding place 
 and twisted her nervous fingers through it. 
 
 "What a hateful, hateful world it is," 
 she thought hotly, looking about with angry 
 eyes from which the gleam slowly faded as 
 the magic of the forest, the matchless blend- 
 ing of tone greens, browns and grays, the 
 tangled mat of fern and blossom, the flash 
 of winging bird and insect, wrought a trans- 
 formation in her mood. "Or if the world 
 itself were beautiful, its people, its men, 
 were both hateful and disappointing even 
 the best of them. Think of Bruce with his 
 rare mind, his noble character and his high 
 ambitions, succumbing to a Delilah with 
 mysterious eyes and permitting her to shear 
 him of his will, and to make of him, the once 
 mighty, a mental weakling who trembled 
 at her frown! Think of of David so en- 
 grossed in commercial affairs that he had 
 no time for legitimate pleasures, yet not so 
 absorbed in the pursuit of wealth but that 
 he could stoop . . . could stoop . . ." 
 
 179
 
 V^Il, 1VJ.IS. JT11LU11CI 
 
 thrusting the handkei 
 
 pocket, ' I I did not se 
 
 "I know you didn't 
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 The horse, long accustomed to his mistress' 
 whims, had been sedately picking a path 
 in and out among the trees, around fallen 
 trunks, and through the brush, but now 
 suddenly stopped and shied as a figure rose 
 from a flat-topped rock, and a voice called 
 cheerily : 
 
 "Well met! The top of the morning to 
 you, Joyce." 
 
 Oh, Mrs. Pritchett," gasped the girl, 
 handkerchief back into her 
 
 see you." 
 
 you didn't and didn't expect to, 
 either, I guess. Is this the way you generally 
 ride over the country, or are you looking 
 for something in the woods today ?" 
 
 "No-o, I just rode in out of the sun. Hero 
 likes to poke along through the leaves. Where 
 are you bound for ? Home? Then you ride," 
 and she jumped to the ground. 'I'll help 
 you mount." 
 
 Mrs. E-Nora's mouth puckered quizzically. 
 "I used to ride horseback when I was a 
 girl," she averred, " and since then I've rode 
 a good many curious ways. I've learned 
 that there's more reasons than the books 
 tell of why the camel is fitted out with several 
 stomachs, if so be his gait upsets his own 
 
 180
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 internal economy as it does that of the fool 
 that gets onto his back. I wished I'd had 
 an extra one along with me, as an automobilist 
 hangs an extra tire onto his machine when 
 he starts out I did so. And I've felt silly 
 and circus-girly perched up in the little 
 cockadoodle they rig up on an elephant's 
 back; and I've prayed to Providence to for- 
 give me and spare the man, when I've 
 had to be toted on a human back, but this 
 sticking on an animal whose backbone is 
 making right angles with the road all the 
 time is beyond my powers. I heard a man 
 tell once of a country where the 'miles stand 
 straight on end,' and I guess that's a pretty 
 fair description of these roads around here, 
 too. I'll keep to shankses mare, if it's all 
 the same to you, thank you." 
 
 "Then I will walk on beside you," and 
 the girl threw the bridle over her arm. " Where 
 are you coming from, Mrs. Pritchett ?" 
 
 "Oh, I've been out missionating a little. 
 I heard that Kendrick's wife was sick, so 
 I put up a few things she might relish and 
 tramped out there in the cool of the morning. 
 Land sake! It was like taking a broom 
 to sweep up the Atlantic Ocean!" The 
 plain face wrinkled in smiles as she continued: 
 
 181
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "Just as cheap to laugh as to cry, I guess, 
 and enough sight more becoming to me. 
 There was the sick woman lying there in 
 bed, so deaf she couldn't hear a word that was 
 said to her, and there was so many of her 
 teeth missin', I couldn't make out what she 
 said to me. Kendrick was sitting there 
 beside her, waving a fly-brush about, and I 
 wish you could see the pants he had on! 
 I ain't certain whether the quilt-makers 
 round here would say they was piece-work 
 or patch-work, but they was one or t'other. 
 The three daughters, nothing but children 
 any of them, fluttered in and out of the cabin 
 while I was there, bare-footed all of 'em 
 and with their skin showing through their 
 gowns in all sorts of places. I asked Kendrick 
 what was being done to help his wife, and he 
 told me that old Doc Twichell had been 
 over from Booneville and 'give her some kin' 
 o' doctor mixtery,' and that Gran'pap Tread- 
 way had come out and breathed on her, but 
 even that failed to cure the disease. 
 
 " 'So a day or two ago,' he said, 'a stranger 
 rid right up to the door, an' they jes' taken 
 the shoe on his lef foot, an' taken hit down 
 to the branch, an' let the water run through 
 hit from toe to heel three times, an' then 
 
 182
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 filled hit with water, an' taken hit up an* 
 let her drink outen hit, an* seem like she 
 got pearter right away.' How is that for 
 the twentieth century and the land of com- 
 pulsory education ?" 
 
 The two smiled their perfect understanding 
 at each other, and then Mrs. Pritchett went 
 on with growing ire: "They are in need of 
 everything except flies; there were more 
 than a plenty of them about. I asked Ken- 
 drick why, as his daughters were there to 
 wait on their mother, he did not go back to 
 the mill and earn money to buy what they 
 ought to have, and he turned his eyes on me 
 in grieved surprise that I should make such 
 a cold-blooded suggestion. He said he ' didn't 
 'low to leave nary sick human a-pinin' fer 
 company'; that so long as a body was ailin', 
 he aimed to stay right whar he could bes' 
 do fer 'em. And there he sits from morning 
 to night, waving that fly-brush, with the 
 clothing dropping off himself and his children, 
 and looks to the neighbors to supply them 
 with food. 
 
 "I wanted to quote the old preacher to 
 him, the one who said that * ravens was 
 scurser than they use to be,' but it would 
 be a wasting of one's breath. Don't stare 
 
 183
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 so, child! Maybe I am hardhearted, but 
 the tender-heartedness that is responsible 
 for such destitution always turns me as 
 'contrairy' as TJla Bell Tyree. By the way, 
 how is Zulemmy since she moved away 
 from your home? Have you seen anything 
 more of her ?" 
 
 "I saw her this morning," said Joyce; 
 "I stopped there for a few minutes." 
 
 They walked on in silence for a short 
 distance, and then the elder woman laid 
 her hand on the arm of her young companion 
 and said : 
 
 "Why not come all the way home with 
 me to-day, Mary Joyce? You have not 
 made me a visit for a long time. Must 
 not let your new friends crowd the old ones 
 out of your affections altogether, my dear. 
 When you begin to feel tired, you can get on 
 your horse, and ride; every one knows you 
 can't walk as I do. We will have a nice 
 talk together this afternoon, and stir up 
 something good for David's supper, and he 
 can ride home with you this evening. Poor 
 boy, he's off somewheres to-day looking 
 up a stranded raft, and there's no knowing 
 what he'll get to eat this noon. Do come!" 
 
 " Oh, I could not come to-day, thank you, 
 
 184
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Mrs. Pritchett," answered Joyce in confusion; 
 "I could not possibly come." 
 
 " Well, come very soon, then," said Mrs. 
 Pritchett, her disappointment showing in her 
 voice. "Speaking of Zulemmy," she con- 
 tinued after a moment, "when does she 
 expect to go back to her own home? Folks 
 ask me and I tell 'em she'll stay as long as 
 Mrs. Letishy '11 do for her. It's queer how 
 a lump of putty like Zulemmy always gets 
 looked after in this world and how much 
 trouble such a one often causes. They do 
 say now that Bill Treadway's head has been 
 so dazed by her lazy smiles that he's off on 
 a big drunk again. Women and wine ! Some 
 men can't separate 'em. And now my David's 
 awfully worried over a notion Bill has got 
 on his mind liquor always makes him gloom 
 over some looney idea. 
 
 " My nephew never has much to say about 
 other folks' affairs, or his own either, but 
 he has told me enough about this so that 
 I know it was something to do with that 
 Tyree trial. I wish to goodness they had 
 taken it to any other county but this! Every- 
 body in these parts seems to have lost his 
 reason about it. The jury decided that 
 the man was guilty, and that's all there is to 
 
 185
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 it, as far as I see. But David's awfully 
 worried over it all. He rode all the way 
 out to talk with Zulemmy last night and urged 
 her to do all she could to persuade Bill to 
 quit drinking and go back to work, and she 
 promised she would, and that she would 
 not have so much to say about the verdict, 
 seeing as how she can't show that it ain't 
 just. But, land sake, you might as well 
 look to that baby, Ula Bell, to accomplish 
 anything as her mother. I know Zulemmy! 
 She'll agree with every one who talks to her, 
 and she'll keep right on making eyes at Bill." 
 
 The youthful figure beside the speaker had 
 grown more erect, the fair face was less 
 hopeless. Then, without word of warning, 
 the girl halted, threw her arms across her 
 empty saddle, buried her face from sight 
 and began to sob, her horse stopping and 
 looking back inquiringly. 
 
 Mrs. Pritchett said nothing for a time. 
 She was wise enough not to attempt to arrest 
 such sobs as these, and she was too much 
 in the dark as to their cause to venture on 
 consolation or sympathy. She laid a hand 
 on the bent head. "Have your cry out, 
 honey," she murmured soothingly; then as 
 she saw the girl's hand fumbling about in 
 
 186
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 her garments: "Want your handkerchief?" 
 she asked, and drew out the one Joyce had 
 tucked into her coat pocket. The girl took 
 it without raising her face and dried her eyes, 
 and when her sobs finally ceased, she said 
 brokenly : 
 
 "I cannot think what possesses me, what 
 makes me act so silly ; but you know things 
 are a little worrisome just now at home. 
 Cousin Letitia cannot be made to believe that 
 Judson Tyree committed that murder, and she 
 blames Cousin Bruce for the verdict, and, late- 
 ly, he has begun to act as if he was frightened 
 at something, and, so you see," here she 
 looked up with a wan smile, turned crimson 
 as she noticed what was in her hand, and 
 with much confusion rolled up the linen 
 and thrust it under her saddle. 
 
 Mrs. Pritchett gave no sign of having 
 observed either the vivid blush or the succeed- 
 ing action. 
 
 "It's a strange tangle," she said, musing. 
 "It must be hard on a man to think that 
 he has sent a fellow man to death. I'm glad 
 they don't ask us women to act on juries. 
 Imagine what the effect would be to find out 
 after the penalty prescribed by law had been 
 paid, that the verdict you had had a hand 
 
 187
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 in rendering was all an error that the man 
 the law had hanged was innocent. But in this 
 case, it don't seem to me that there could 
 be any doubt, even if Mrs. Patterson does 
 think otherwise. Your cousin's wife has her 
 good qualities the worst of us have some 
 but she is opinionated and frictions . And 
 she is unhappy down here, we mustn't forget 
 that. She will never understand the moun- 
 taineers or get nearer to them if she lives 
 among them a thousand years." 
 
 She took the girl's hand and the two 
 walked again side by side. "And you won't 
 change your mind and come on with me 
 today, Mary Joyce?" she begged once more, 
 as they neared the point where their paths 
 diverged. 
 
 "Not today, please, Mrs. Pritchett," 
 pleaded Joyce, but the refusal was given in 
 very different tones now. "I will come 
 soon the next time your maid has a day out." 
 
 "Oh, she can go any day," was the quick 
 response; then as the lady caught the sly 
 twinkle in the hazel eyes that were still damp 
 with tears, she laughed good-humoredly and 
 said: 
 
 "You think my help's holidays are a great 
 joke, don't you you and David?" The 
 
 188
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 shrewd observer did not lose sight of the 
 color that again dyed the girl's cheeks at 
 this speech, but she only added : 
 
 " Well come when you like so it's soon." 
 "Yes, I w r ill come-by very soon," answered 
 Joyce, using the local phrase, her face all 
 aglow and her dimple in full action. 
 
 "But I don't want you to come-by," mocked 
 Mrs. Pritchett. " I want you to come in, come 
 in and stay stay always," she added daringly, 
 as she leaned forward and tenderly kissed 
 the rosy cheek nearest her. 
 
 189
 
 "DAVID," asked Mrs. Pritchett that same 
 evening as aunt and nephew were enjoying 
 their well-cooked, nicely served supper, 
 "how many of those handkerchiefs I gave 
 you last winter have you got left ?" 
 
 "Every one of them, Aunt Nora," was the 
 young man's prompt response. " I have never 
 seen any others I liked so well, and being 
 your gift, besides, I am very choice of 
 them." 
 
 "Of course." Mrs. E-Nora thought she 
 could easily supply another reason for this 
 unwonted care David's clothing was gener- 
 ally subjected to hard usage but she said 
 nothing further, and sat puzzling her brain 
 over the circumstance of its having been one 
 of those self-same kerchiefs she had that 
 morning drawn from Joyce's pocket, and 
 which the girl had been so eager to hide. 
 She was sure of this, for not only had she 
 recognized the article itself, but the small 
 monogram with which she marked all of 
 David's linen had been plainly visible. 
 Yet weeks had elapsed since David's last 
 
 190
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 visit to the Pattersons, and it had been even 
 longer since Joyce had done more than look 
 in on her. Wnile she studied this enigma, 
 her nephew leaned back in his chair and said: 
 
 "It's mighty curious that you should have 
 inquired about those handkerchiefs tonight, 
 Aunt Nora, for come to think of it, I left 
 one of them out at Zulemmy's last evening. 
 I was in a hurry to get started, and I took one 
 of them from the box, not necessarily for use " 
 
 "But as a guarantee of good manners," 
 suggested his listener. "I often take a hand- 
 kerchief in that spirit, myself." 
 
 "Exactly. When I arrived at Bill's cabin, 
 Mrs. Tyree was down the road somewhere, 
 and while Noc went for her, I tried to amuse 
 the baby. She was sleepy and cross, the 
 little sinner, and as she declined to cease 
 her howling and play peek-a-boo with me, 
 I made a rabbit for her out of my handkerchief. 
 She liked that, and hugged it up to her so 
 tight, we did not attempt to take it from her 
 when her mother put her to bed. I meant 
 to get it before leaving there, but never thought 
 of it again until you spoke just now. I 
 wonder what occult influence made you ask 
 the question ?" 
 
 "Oh, thought transference, or mental 
 
 191
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 telepathy or some other tomfoolery. That 
 mind current they're telling about is some 
 like dreams you can lay what you please 
 to it and no one can prove the contrary. 
 It goes by contraries, too. It'll give away 
 your dearest secret, but it's as cranky as Uncle 
 Sam about carrying your opinion of other 
 folks to them! I'd like to use it right now 
 to whisper to Letishy Patterson what a fool 
 she's making of herself, and Bruce too, 
 chewing over that verdict. She's got her 
 husband worked up to believing he'll be a 
 murderer if he lets Tyree hang, and she's 
 nagged him into doing so much for Zulemmy 
 that there's some pretty nasty gossip going 
 round. Some folks do say that he nad his 
 own object in getting Tyree out of the way, 
 and that Letishy's found it out and has set 
 herself to balk his schemes, and that's why 
 she's so crazy to get Jud off. Ain't that a 
 nice mixtery for you? Zulemmy, she won't 
 mind what they say of her, so long as she's 
 cared for and has a man to smile at now 
 and again. Poor soul! She don't mean no 
 harm; I wish she did, for nothing ever comes 
 of her meanness" 
 
 "Oh, Zulemmy's all right," said David 
 carelessly, thinking how ready she had been 
 
 in
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to promise to use her influence on Bill to get 
 him to stop drinking and go to work. "She 
 is young and fond of fun, and there is not 
 much outlet for a girl of her temperament 
 up here except to smile and look handsome. 
 She is a mighty handsome woman." 
 
 "Handsome! David Carroll! Well, she 
 may look so to a man! A woman can't see 
 through the dirt to tell whether she's hand- 
 some or not, but men have queer tastes, 
 even the best of them. Perhaps you'd not 
 think so well of her looks if you ever found 
 out that she'd been interfering with your 
 personal affairs," aching to tell him of the 
 episode of the handkerchief, but not seeing 
 her way clear to go beyond this vague hint. 
 " I wish she'd stayed in her own home, where 
 she'd ought to be, and not come traipsing 
 down here stirring up such strife. Letishy 
 would never have known of the trial if she 
 hadn't come along, and then Bruce wouldn't 
 be wild-goose chasing over the country, nor 
 on the rack when he's home. Things get 
 to such a pass up there now, that poor little 
 Mary Joyce has to run off by herself in the 
 woods and cry." 
 
 "Does she run off and cry?" asked David, 
 outwardly calm, but there was a certain 
 
 193
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 undertone to his speech that the keen ears 
 listening to him did not fail to catch. "I 
 should not think she need do that. She could 
 run back to Frankfort or Lexington, or 
 over to the Springs, and laugh and forget 
 about everything here." 
 
 "So she could if she was another sort of 
 girl; but she can see she's needed at home 
 to keep things from going all to smash, 
 what with Letishy and her doings and Aunt 
 Philomee and her grievances, and Zulemmy 
 and Tyree, and the dog and the cat and the 
 cows and pigs and who-not and what-not all 
 snarled up in a mess. I don't believe she 
 cares much for those Blue Grass beaux of 
 hers, either, when all's said and done. When 
 she first come home, I suspicioned she'd 
 left her heart outside, but I guess, after all, 
 she brought it back with her in the same 
 condition it was when she went away. I 
 don't think any of those harum-scarum young 
 fellows that have been doing their prettiest 
 to help this branch of the railroad earn its 
 first dividend have succeeded in getting it 
 away from her yet. 
 
 " Talk about Zulemmy a married woman 
 with a child, needing some one to make 
 eyes at, how about Mary Joyce? I feel to 
 
 194
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 wish there was more young folks for her to 
 run with round here a man or two that 
 wasn't so tied down to business but what 
 he could take time to live," she explained 
 with much emphasis, apparently oblivious 
 of the fact that among all the voters of Holly- 
 wood and its surroundings, only the one now 
 facing her could wear a cap of this color. 
 "When Bruce stays at home, she ain't quite 
 so lonesome, for he rides with her and teases 
 and jokes with her, but when he's gone there's 
 lots of times she has to amuse herself, and 
 that's pretty tame amusement for a girl of 
 her age, and temperament," scornfully, "as 
 you call it. In my day we left off them last 
 two syllables, but we meant the same thing. 
 "Let me see," she rambled on, after a pause 
 during which David seemed absorbed by 
 his meal -"I was wondering how 'twould 
 do to ask Bob Pritchett down here John P. 
 Pritchett's son. He must be twenty-two 
 or three by this time he wasn't so much 
 younger than you. You remember him, don't 
 you, David ? He came out and stayed a while 
 with us that winter you and your father 
 and Pritchett and me was out to California. 
 You was both little boys then. Bob's had 
 a splendid education and travelled about 
 
 195
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 pretty near all over Kingdom Come from 
 what I've heard tell, and he'll fall heir to 
 considerable fortune from his mother's folks. 
 He's a lively one too takes after his father 
 John P. was always a great hand to train 
 and a good looker (the Pritchetts are all 
 that), and his mother's one of the salt of the 
 earth. I'd be glad to hear from her again, 
 and I'll write this very night and see if Bob 
 can't fix to come down and make us a visit. 
 What say, David ? As long as Joyce's friends 
 stay off at the sea-shore and where-not, she 
 could take hold and help me entertain him; 
 he could row her up the river and ride around 
 the country with her. If anything serious 
 should be the outcome of it," after a moment's 
 reflection, "I don't see as any objections 
 could be made by either the Pritchetts or 
 the Pattersons. Letishy 'd be glad enough 
 to have Joyce go North to live, and then 
 maybe she wouldn't have to work so hard 
 to get Bruce headed in that direction, too. 
 I'll do it! I'll write this very night," she 
 concluded with great decision, rising abruptly 
 from the table. 
 
 "Just as you like, Aunt Nora," was the 
 reply of the imperturbable young man who 
 rose with her. "It would be pleasant to 
 
 196
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 see old Bob down here. I have run across 
 him at times when I have been up North, 
 and he's a mighty fine fellow. Do you remem- 
 ber that time in California when he and I 
 stole the oranges ?" 
 
 "Oranges!" ejaculated Mrs. E-Nora with 
 an angry whisk out of the room; then when 
 safely out of hearing she muttered: "He 
 may have stole oranges, but 'twas punkin- 
 heads you got." 
 
 She remained in her room until she smelled 
 the odor of a freshly lighted cigar and heard 
 her nephew leave the house. He had told 
 her that some of the mill machinery was to 
 be overhauled and that he must go back 
 and superintend the work, and when she was 
 sure he was out of sight, she came down, 
 and taking her seat on the porch in front of 
 the house, made the rockers of her stout 
 hickory chair creak with the energy of her 
 motion. 
 
 "I'll swear he did begin to care for her," 
 she repeated to herself as she grew more 
 calm, 'and it don't seem like David to get 
 over it so easy. Trouble is, his time's so 
 full of business and schemes for his employees, 
 that he don't have no chance to get acquainted 
 with himself. That club of his! Philan- 
 
 197
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 thropy ! Pooh ! He's got no call to be bother- 
 ing about any brotherly love at his age 
 nor sisterly love, neither! His mind had 
 ought to be running on a sweetheart instead 
 of free shower-baths for those who won't 
 take 'em, and a library of books for men 
 who can't read!" Her thoughts turned to 
 the revelation, the mute confession that had 
 involuntarily been made to her in the woods 
 that morning, and her ire bubbled over 
 with greater vehemence. " She cares for him, 
 I'm dead certain of that now, and he has 
 just got to care for her!" A rock 
 between each word. "The idea! I won't 
 believe but what he does, when all's said and 
 done, but if there's a human being on this 
 globe that can match David Carroll in hiding 
 his feelings, I'd like to know where such a 
 one is to be found." 
 
 The fatigue resulting from her morning's 
 tramp crept over her as she sat out in the 
 twilight, and at an earlier hour than was her 
 custom, she closed the house and went up 
 to her room for the night. When she had 
 made ready for bed, she stepped before the 
 old-fashioned bureau that stood against one 
 wall, and a grim smile wrinkled her cheeks 
 as her eyes fell upon a card that had been 
 
 198
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 stuck in the frame of the mirror a post- 
 card on which Cupid disported his chubby 
 self among hearts and darts and gaudy 
 floral wreaths. It had come to her from one 
 of her far-away nieces the previous St. Valen- 
 tine's Day, and had been cherished for the 
 affection that prompted its sending. The 
 old lady looked from the dimpled, roguish 
 face of the God of Love to the reflection of 
 her own angular features, made more severe 
 than ever by the plainly cut night-gown she 
 had put on and the excruciatingly tight pug 
 into which she had twisted her sparse locks, 
 and an expression of humorous discomfiture 
 pursed her mouth. 
 
 "I've always been told there was no fool 
 like an old fool," she confided to the pictured 
 Cupid, "but I guess there's one sort of fool 
 who can beat that, and that's an old fool 
 trying to pass for a young fool. I might 
 have known I'd only make a fizzle of your 
 game." 
 
 She was falling into the deep slumber 
 induced by prolonged out-of-door exercise, 
 when a step hurried along the walk outside, 
 the house door was unlocked and opened, 
 and some one entered and hurriedly ran up 
 the stairs. There was a quick tap at her 
 
 199
 
 The Twelfth Jurvr 
 
 door and David's voice called : 
 
 " You still awake, Aunt Nora ?" 
 
 She sat up in alarm. Accidents with the 
 saws and fires among the piled lumber had 
 been bugbears for the greater part of her 
 life, and her mind at once suspected some 
 grewsome catastrophe. 
 
 "Yes, I am awake. What is the trouble, 
 David ? What has happened ?" 
 
 There was a pause before the voice in the 
 hall, a voice that was David's and yet subtly 
 differed from its smooth cadence, stammered: 
 
 "No-nothing nothing much. I was only 
 wondering whether you had sent that letter 
 yet?" 
 
 "What letter?" 
 ' The one to Bob." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed the lady and as the 
 significance of the inquiry dawned upon her, 
 she gave a sly wink at her conscience and 
 replied : 
 
 "I have not finished it yet. You want to 
 send a message ?" 
 
 "Y-No! But if you have not already 
 sent it, I want to ask you to wait awhile. 
 There may be something I can explain 
 to you later." 
 
 ' Anything wrong at the mill ?" 
 
 200
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Was it only in her imagination that she heard 
 the smothered words " Damn the mill" ? 
 
 She sat perfectly still and listened until 
 she heard David's door close with an impatient 
 snap, then she arose and with great delibera- 
 tion relighted her lamp and carried it back 
 to the bureau. Again the saucy eyes of the 
 baby god met hers, but it was the woman 
 that radiated triumph now. 
 
 "There!" she said, emphasizing her words 
 with a nod. "I guess I've got that tangle 
 straightened out for you, and I want you 
 should be careful not to get things so snarled 
 up again," and with the smile of a victor, she 
 retraced her steps, blew out her light and laid 
 her head upon her pillow. 
 
 201
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 FACILITIES for travel are conspicuously 
 absent in the Cumberlands of southeastern 
 Kentucky. For years after the more accessible 
 portions of our country were veiled by a 
 network of intersecting iron rails, the promoters 
 of rapid transit fought shy of this section, 
 not alone because of the poverty of its scat- 
 tered population, but principally on account 
 of the problems presented to constructive 
 engineers by tiers of perpendicular cliffs that 
 "orru a natural Chinese wall, barring traffic. 
 More recently the demand for a market for 
 the huge coal deposits that past ages have 
 stored there has spurred the intrepid surveyor 
 to scale these heights and span these gullies, 
 blazing a trail over which the dauntless steam- 
 horse can be driven with comparative safety; 
 yet, at this very day, many of the highland 
 counties remain as destitute of any of the 
 inventions for annihilating distance as when 
 the more restless of the early Virginia settlers 
 prodded their footsore steeds westward to 
 these picturesque wilds. A horse and a 
 mule hitched to a stout wagon provided 
 
 202
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 with heavy brakes is the local means of 
 transporting everything that cannot go "a- 
 horseback." To learn to ride is as essential 
 a part of the development of the mountain 
 child as to learn to walk, and it is no uncommon 
 sight to behold a father and three of his 
 offspring seated one behind the other on 
 the back of the same animal, who jogs stolidly 
 along with no symptom of being overburdened. 
 
 Women all use the side-saddle, or sit 
 sidewise when a saddle has been dispensed 
 with altogether. It is regarded as immodest 
 to assume any other posture, and a daughter 
 of Eve who, clad in a bifurcated habit, should 
 traverse these mountains "cross-saddle," 
 would bring scandal and reproach upon her 
 sex. 
 
 To insure peace of mind while availing 
 one's self of such poorly equipped, cheaply 
 constructed railroads as now penetrate these 
 rocky fastnesses, the traveler must literally 
 obey the scriptural injunction and "Take 
 no thought for the morrow." The anecdote 
 of the irate drummer, who, having by a hair's 
 breadth missed the train that he watched 
 steaming off in the distance, was offered 
 the absurd consolation that "hit was on'y 
 yeste' day's train" with which he had failed 
 
 203
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to connect, does not exaggerate conditions, 
 so indifferent are those who operate these 
 lines to their published time-cards. 
 
 On his way from Hollywood to the state 
 capital, Bruce Patterson had ample oppor- 
 tunity to weigh the pros and cons of the errand 
 on which he was bent, for a crippled locomo- 
 tive after balking badly where the stations 
 were comparatively close together at last 
 came to a dead halt on a bend where the 
 single track lay between a stony promontory 
 on the one side and its precipitous continua- 
 tion on the other. So far all his attempts 
 to discover facts that would corroborate 
 Letitia's faith in the innocence of Judson 
 Tyree had been futile; nothing had come 
 to light that could be urged as a reason for 
 a retrial, and each day found the twelfth 
 juror more distracted by the remorse that 
 nad already claimed him as its prey. The 
 plea of the condemned man's fittle son 
 * Yo' won't let 'em kill my Pappy " rang in his 
 ears by day and haunted his dreams at night. 
 The result of a new trial might leave the 
 sentence unchanged but the awful responsi- 
 bility for its enactment would rest on other 
 shoulders than his. 
 
 There were now hours when he grew numb 
 
 204
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 with fear as he looked into the future and saw 
 himself pursued by the challenging eyes of 
 Tyree's son grown to manhood. He realized 
 perfectly that, so far as any argument that 
 could be presented, Letitia would ever remain 
 of the opinion that the verdict had been 
 unjust, and he knew that, inconsistent as it 
 seemed with all the facts, her opinion would 
 be that of a large proportion of the mountain 
 population. 
 
 Capital punishment in theory has its thou- 
 sands of advocates; capital punishment in 
 practice has its tens of thousands of opponents. 
 Bruce Patterson was overwhelmed at times, 
 when mentally reviewing the evidence sub- 
 mitted by the prosecution, to find nothing 
 in its meager details that warranted his 
 former conviction that Judson Tyree had 
 committed the murder; but, there were other 
 times, when in solitude, riding alone over 
 seldom travelled roads, or resting beside some 
 hidden stream, when there would again flash 
 before his mind the mute confession made 
 by the eyes of the prisoner to his, and this 
 memory would be followed by a paroxysm 
 of the vacillating indecision that is one index 
 of the limitation of the finite mind. Of 
 this pregnant glance he had told no one. 
 
 205
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 He was aware of the contemptuous mockery 
 with which his wife would listen to his belief 
 of the meaning of that glance; how ever after 
 she would cite it as proof of his near kinship 
 with the superstitious mountaineers. 
 
 It was only after a long, hard struggle with 
 himself, and after other means for freeing 
 Tyree had failed, that he determined upon 
 a measure, the very suggestion of which had 
 at first been repellant. He knew now beyond 
 cavil or doubt, that if his future life was to 
 contain aught of worth or joy, Tyree, guilty 
 or innocent, must be saved from the gallows, 
 and to this end he must now go to the Governor 
 of the state and sue for his pardon. It was 
 one symptom of his abnormal state of mind, 
 that he had decided upon the very course he 
 had cited many times, some years before, as one 
 of the most active agents in the culture of 
 the virus of reckless homicide that had in- 
 fected his native hills. He knew that he 
 could count upon the mutual esteem that 
 had existed between Governor Redfern and 
 his own father to gain any petition of his 
 a thoughtful hearing, and he trusted to his 
 ability in presenting the subject to induce the 
 Executive as in former instances to accept 
 his viewpoint and endorse his conclusions. 
 
 206
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 The fellow-passengers in the small, high, 
 out-of-date coach in which he sat blindly 
 thinking, thinking made a series of pilgrim- 
 ages along the side of the track to the front 
 end of the train, only to return and impatiently 
 resume their desultory conversation, or read- 
 ing. The large flies that, apparently, are 
 parasites of the iron as of the blood-and- 
 muscle steed, buzzed distractingly up and 
 down the narrow window panes. The air 
 of the car was foul with the reek of crude 
 petroleum, of the ghostly odors of stale lunches, 
 and the stench of soiled, sweat-soaked linen 
 and leather. As illustrative of man's help- 
 lessness against the perversities of matter 
 nothing can be more convincing than a break- 
 down on a jerkwater railroad. The gentle- 
 man in the seat across the aisle gave Bruce 
 his unasked opinion, punctuated by pauses, 
 during which he leaned out of the window 
 to empty his mouth of tobacco juice, that 
 he "reckoned 'twould be a right smart spell 
 afore they moved awn; they was a-takin' the 
 engyne to pieces and pilin' 'em up awn the 
 tender as fer as a body could tell." 
 
 Hope was revived at last, however, by a 
 long, wild shriek from the distance, re-echoed 
 by the nearby rocks, and another engine 
 
 207
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 slowly backed down the track and was attached 
 to the motionless cars, and soon after the wheels 
 began to jolt over the ties again. 
 
 The train arrived at Frankfort in the 
 middle of a hot afternoon, but Mr. Patterson 
 hastened through the streets, whose shops 
 had the curious half-dozy, half painfully 
 wide-awake appearance of a person trying 
 to forego his habitual midday nap. At the 
 Capitol building, to reach which he passed 
 near the tablet that commemorates a cold- 
 blooded murder that is recorded in the history 
 of the state, he was informed that Governor 
 Redfern had gone to his home; so he walked 
 on under the rows of dusty shade trees, in 
 whose branches the cicadse shrilled stridently, 
 until he was confronted by a tall, forbidding 
 structure, with oddly devised turrets rising 
 from the angles of its broad stone walls, from 
 one to another of which marched men armed 
 and uniformed. Immediately opposite this 
 menacing edifice, Bruce turned to his right 
 and skirted the iron flukes of the fence that 
 encloses the gubernatorial garden. With a 
 total lack of ceremony, he was admitted to 
 the home of the ruler of the Commonwealth, 
 and ushered into a semi-official apartment, 
 where he found the Executive clad in garments 
 
 208
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 more distinguished for airiness than for con- 
 ventionality, and immersed in his voluminous 
 correspondence. 
 
 The Governor looked round as the door 
 opened, nodded, and, with a smile, pointed 
 towards a chair, while he continued his work 
 with his secretary picking up letter after 
 letter in a jerky, nervous fashion, scanning 
 the contents and then dictating the terse, 
 though courteous, reply that was characteristic 
 of the man. At last the papers that had 
 been strewn all over the top of the desk had 
 all been transferred to the waste-basket or 
 the secretary's portfolio, and, after receiving 
 some briefly spoken instructions, that young 
 man discreetly withdrew. 
 
 As the door to an inner room closed upon 
 him, Governor Redfern, the "Reform Gover- 
 nor," as he was designated, rose a short, 
 square figure, with close-cropped grey beard 
 and hair, took a step forward and grasped 
 his visitor warmly by the hand. 
 
 "Well! Well! Bruce, my boy!" he ejacu- 
 lated, "I was looking for you at my office 
 in the Capitol all morning you wrote you 
 were coming on official matters, you remem- 
 ber but you are all the more welcome here 
 in my home. These hot days I don't go 
 
 209
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 back in the evenings. I like to loosen up 
 a bit, and I can do that better, physically 
 and mentally, under my own roof. Sally 
 and the girls were mightily disappointed 
 when I did not bring you up to dinner with 
 me I told them this morning I was expecting 
 you." 
 
 Bruce explained about the delay on the 
 road, and the older man, who had a trick 
 of turning up the ends of his short beard and 
 biting at them between his words, chuckled 
 with amusement. 
 
 "Same old tupenny-hapenny road," he 
 said, seating himself and motioning to Bruce 
 to do the same. "A drummer on a train 
 with me one day swore that the engineer had 
 orders to stop once at every single house 
 and twice at every double house." Then, 
 as his guest sat silently nerving himself to 
 introduce the object of his visit: "How like 
 your father you grow, Bruce; the very spit 
 and image of what he was at your age. You 
 have been changing in looks, haven't you? 
 Or is it that I see you so seldom nowadays, 
 I forget between while just what your looks 
 
 ri r> 
 
 are like ? 
 
 There was a reproach in the last words 
 that Bruce was about to deprecate, when a 
 
 210
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 door opened, admitting a colored boy, who 
 bore a tray on which stood two tall glasses 
 filled with cracked ice that clinked most 
 refreshingly, while sprigs of aromatic green 
 rising from the top designated the variety 
 of the liquid contents. 
 
 Taking the tray, Governor Redfern offered 
 one of these glasses to his guest and helped 
 himself to the other. 
 
 " And how are you-all at home ?" he inquired 
 cordially, as the two sat and sipped the cold 
 beverage; "How's your wife, and Miss Mary 
 Joyce? That young lady was a great belle 
 when she was here in the winter. She is a 
 very charming, beautiful young woman, that 
 cousin- ward of yours, Bruce. Do you realize 
 it? When you were younger, my wife and 
 I used to romance about the two of you 
 
 but, of course, that's all nonsense 
 
 now. My girls teased Miss Joyce considerable 
 about a sweetheart of hers up at Hollywood, 
 that young lumberman you've got up there 
 David Carroll. I have not seen him often, 
 but I've always thought of him as a manly, 
 intelligent fellow with lots of executive ability. 
 Too much absorbed in business to run with 
 the young lazybones of this section not in 
 their class at all but keen as a blade and 
 
 211
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 honest as the day is long, if I am any judge of 
 character. Do you know what a rara avis 
 an honest business man has become? It 
 ought not to be so, it need not be so." 
 
 'I will bear your words in mind if ever 
 the young man should want to interview me 
 as guardian of the young lady. * Praise from 
 Sir Hubert is,' indeed, valuable endorsement. 
 However," Bruce continued with a sigh, "I 
 have no reason to expect that he will ever 
 ask me to give him my ward and my blessing. 
 I reckon you made too much of Joyce when 
 she was here with you gave her too many 
 new notions and weaned her heart away from 
 her mountain home. Have you ever met 
 Carroll's aunt, Mrs. Pritchett?" 
 
 "Mrs. E-Nora? Yes, I have," replied 
 the Governor with a laugh. "I heard her 
 tell a story once, too. Ever hear her tell 
 a story? This was a good one. We were 
 staying at the Springs for a few days, and 
 one evening a group, of which she was a 
 member, sat out on one of the verandas, and 
 young Prof. Stebbins of the university, who 
 was there at the time, also, kindly discoursed 
 to us. Stebbins is one of these up-to-date 
 educators who push for notoriety by denying 
 and deriding all the faiths of the centuries,
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 especially religious creeds, and he was riding 
 his hobby in great shape that evening. He 
 asserted that there had never been a case 
 known where prayer and supplication to the 
 Almighty had had a direct answer or any 
 answer at all, and he followed along the line 
 of argument that Old Nick used with Mother 
 Eve in the garden, but which the opinionated 
 ass evidently regarded as the spontaneous 
 product of the gray matter of his own brain. 
 
 " Old Dr. Manning of Christ Church, Lex- 
 ington, was one of the group, and I reckon 
 Prof. Smarty 'lowed to get a rise out of him 
 directly, but the Doc. is some like Brer 
 Rabbit, and 'he lay low.' We were all 
 getting mighty tired and uncomfortable, when 
 this Mrs. Pritchett she starts in telling about 
 the woods up in northern Michigan where 
 she was raised, and I thought she only had 
 in mind to change a wearisome subject. 
 Well, you know now she can hold your 
 attention when she talks? She just kept on 
 and on, and told us about the way they used 
 to manage in the lumber camps up there 
 in those old days how all the logs cut had 
 to be hauled out of the woods on sledges, 
 and how the whole business depended on 
 the snowfall. 
 
 213
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 " One winter there was no snow up to the 
 middle of January which was most unusual 
 for that region they have nine months of 
 winter and three of late in the fall as a general 
 thing and the lumbermen were about crazy. 
 One of them who had secured a big note by 
 a contract for that season was plumb desperate. 
 He tried to flood the roads and freeze them, 
 and I can't recall what all. One day when 
 he was in the village nearest the camps, he 
 chanced to run across the missionary of that 
 district 'God's gentle man* she called the 
 clergyman, and in his coarse, joking way 
 said to him : ' I suppose if I would hand over 
 a big donation to your church, parson, you'd 
 be willing to say a prayer for snow, wouldn't 
 you ?' The old soldier was loyal to his colors 
 and replied that while the church had no 
 special prayer for snow in her liturgy, if the 
 lumberman would come to the next service, 
 he could make his petition for snow while 
 the prayer for ' all things needful* was repeated, 
 and the man agreed to do this. 
 
 "All the balance of that week the lumber- 
 man went bragging round of how he was going 
 to meeting on Sunday, and shamelessly assert- 
 ing that it would be the first time he had set 
 foot inside a church door since his wife's 
 
 214
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 funeral. He even went so far as to bet on 
 the outcome of his prayer, with his old cronies. 
 
 "When the service began the following 
 Sunday morning he was in one of the pews 
 and sat motionless and stolid through the 
 ritual. After the benediction was pronounced, 
 he got up and hurried forward to speak to 
 the clergyman, whom he found closing the 
 outer door of the small vestry room, and said 
 to him: 'Well, parson, that was a darned 
 good sermon you gave us, and your prayers 
 were O.K. too. I just sat there and said 
 snow, snow snow over a million times. 
 I thought if the wires were busy or crossed 
 and I didn't get the connection one time, 
 I was bound to another; and now I suppose 
 you'll want me to sit and twiddle my thumbs 
 waiting for the return message.' 
 
 " The windows of the building were all of 
 colored glass so one couldn't see through 
 them, but, with a smile, the old clergyman 
 stepped back to the outer door of the room 
 and reopened it and showed the steps leading 
 from it to the ground already white with 
 fast-falling snow. Well, sir, all of us were 
 fairly stunned by this climax. Only a very 
 callow youth had the temerity to ask *And 
 the lumberman was converted on the spot, 
 
 215
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 wasn't he?' Mrs. Pritchett's expression did 
 not vary one iota from what it had been all 
 the time as she answered: 'He said as he 
 went hot-foot up the street, that if he had 
 known a snowstorm was as near as all that, 
 he'd be damned if he would have wasted 
 the whole morning on such tomfoolery.' 
 That was Dr. Manning's cue and he took it 
 nobly: 'Neither would they be persuaded 
 though one rose from the dead,' he quoted 
 in that mellow voice of his, and somehow 
 Stebbins had no more of his thinks to expound 
 to us that evening." 
 
 Bruce listened with what patience he could 
 to this long story. He knew of old how 
 fond his host was of repeating any story he 
 had heard that had impressed him; but 
 his restlessness had steadily increased until, 
 when the Governor ceased speaking, he 
 broke out bluntly : 
 
 "Governor Redfern, for it is the Governor 
 I am here to see, I want you to interest your- 
 self in the case of the man Judson Tyree, 
 who is now over yonder," with a gesture 
 towards the penitentiary, "under sentence 
 of death." 
 
 "Interest myself?" queried the older man, 
 his grey eyes, that had twinkled with amuse- 
 
 216
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 ment during his long recital, growing steely, 
 and his whole manner hardening. " With 
 what end in view ?" 
 
 " With the view of exercising your pre- 
 rogative and pardoning the man." 
 
 The Governor bit still more nervously at 
 the stubble of his beard, but, before speaking, 
 he rose and carried the empty glasses to the 
 tray which he had placed on a small stand 
 near the door. On returning to his seat, 
 he asked with sharpness: "Is not that the 
 case where you acted as foreman of the jury 
 that brought in a verdict of guilt ?" 
 
 "It is," answered Bruce. "I was the 
 twelfth juror, and that was our verdict." 
 
 His hearer seemed bewildered by this 
 frank admission. 
 
 "Knowing you as I do as I think I do 
 I shall not ask if that was your own voluntary 
 decision, reached without outside influence 
 or coercion. You have, then, found cause 
 for changing it indisputable evidence to the 
 contrary has come to your knowledge?" 
 
 " Not not yet. That is, nothing definite." 
 
 "But you feel that, if given time, you will 
 find facts of that import ?" 
 
 "I I may." 
 
 "Are you in any degree confident that you 
 
 217
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 will ? Have you a reasonable doubt of this 
 condemned man's guilt ?" 
 
 "I doubt the justice of capital punishment 
 for any crime." 
 
 "Since when?" incredulously. "But that 
 has nothing to do with the status of the case. 
 The law prescribes the punishment. What 
 I ask you is this, do you honestly doubt 
 that Judson Tyree committed the mur- 
 der for which he is condemned by 
 the law to die ?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 The Governor was baffled. He rose and 
 paced the length of the room back and forth. 
 Once, when near his caller, who now sat 
 with his face buried in his arms, he hesitated 
 and put out his hand toward one of the 
 drooping shoulders, but he changed his mind 
 and strode on. Finally, he took a chair 
 and placed it in front of Bruce, sat down 
 on it and faced him. 
 
 "Before coming to-day, Mr. Patterson,'* 
 and at the formality of the address, Bruce 
 raised his head, ' you were considerate 
 enough to write me that your visit would be 
 on the Executive not on your father's life- 
 long friend, nor on the man who, in the past, 
 has shown, perhaps, a too flattering estimate 
 
 218
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of your aims and ambitions. But I have 
 not altogether allowed you to ignore our old 
 relations, and I have met you as I had hoped 
 always to meet Hiram Patterson's son. What 
 has persuaded you to renounce your old 
 comrades and to deny your erstwhile tenets, 
 I do not ask, but that you have so changed 
 is patent to all those men, who, when you 
 attained your majority, lauded your self- 
 dedication to the cause of reform and gloried 
 in the knowledge that your father's principles 
 and ideals were to have so ardent an advocate. 
 Bruce Patterson," the phrases became more 
 rapid and the tones grew clear, "a few 
 years ago when the idea was first presented 
 to me that I act as leader of those Kentuckians 
 who could no longer passively endure the 
 degrading spectacle of a commonwealth 
 shackled by corruption and debauched by 
 greed, I was, as you well remember, 
 averse to accepting such overwhelming re- 
 sponsibility over and over again, I declined 
 to do so. Later on, I was once more ap- 
 proached, and you with others pledged me 
 your support during the campaign, and guaran- 
 teed me your personal co-operation in institut- 
 ing the reform measures we all longed to see 
 introduced. It was on these inducements 
 
 219
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and promises that I finally agreed to yield 
 my own personal preferences to what was 
 pictured to me as the public welfare. After 
 a hard fight, during which no secret was made 
 of the policy I intended to pursue if elected, 
 
 we won the victory." 
 
 The kindling eyes of the speaker now grew 
 dull and his whole body relaxed. "No sooner 
 had I taken the oath of office and been heralded 
 far and wide as a * Reform Governor,' than 
 I commenced to discover vacancies in the 
 ranks of those who had been so eager to follow 
 my banner. To you, the man whose heritage 
 of loyalty to the highest standards of states- 
 manship, whose tutelage under a humani- 
 tarian Durned by the desire to uplift his 
 brothers, I looked to rally these faint-hearted 
 deserters and to hold up my hands. With 
 implicit faith in the sincerity of your repeated 
 avowals, I have called on you for your aid, 
 not once but again and again. What has 
 been your response? Excuses! Excuses of 
 one sort and another! Excuses, forsooth, 
 as varied in purport as those offered by the 
 invited guests in the old parable. The out- 
 come of all our strenuous preparations for 
 cleansing the temple of government from the 
 corruption that has converted it into a place of 
 
 220
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 barter, for healing the diseased morality of 
 our state, is that the 'Reformer' upon whom 
 you helped thrust the mantle of gubernatorial 
 purple, is the laughing-stock of the whole 
 nation. Cartoonists caricature him, yellow 
 journals spit their venom at him, he is the 
 butt of the vaudeville buffoon and of the 
 comic paragrapher. 
 
 ** When I heard that you were acting as 
 juror in this mountain murder trial, I rejoiced, 
 for it was an indication that a spark of your 
 old intent to labor for changed conditions 
 in your native hills was still aglow. I felt 
 as if that trial would be the test through 
 which it would be shown whether justice 
 had been banished beyond the hope of recall. 
 When I learned that a verdict had been 
 returned, and that, at last, the cold-blooded 
 murder of a government official that one 
 horrible feature of the Kentucky mountain 
 life that is familiar to the outer world was 
 to be legally avenged, I rejoiced again, know- 
 ing that be the wedge never so insignificant 
 in itself, if persistently hammered, it will, 
 in the end, accomplish the overthrow of a 
 deep-rooted, poisonous growth. And now, 
 Mr. Patterson, you come to me and ask 
 that I place the seal of the Commonwealth 
 
 221
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 on the lawlessness that is rampant in our 
 highlands; that I personally endorse the 
 barbarous dictum that the shot-gun shall 
 be sole arbiter in all disputes and disagree- 
 ments; that I subscribe to the infinitesimal 
 value that the men of the mountains give 
 to human life. You come to me with the 
 request that I set at naught the law that I 
 am under oath to maintain, and, as a favor 
 to you, that is it, is it not? pardon this 
 man, Judson Tyree duly condemned to hang 
 after a fair and impartial trial. 
 
 " It is almost impossible for me to bring my- 
 self to believe that it is you, who now ask 
 this of me I simply cannot believe it is 
 the man whom I once knew well. Pitiful 
 as such a supposition is, it is less harrow- 
 ing to think that your will is in thrall 
 to that of another that your individuality 
 lies dormant under the influence of a mental 
 narcotic. But, whether this surmise be right 
 
 or wrong you have asked your 
 
 question, Mr. Patterson," a tightly clenched 
 nst striking the heavy table by which the 
 men sat, punctuated the words, "and my 
 answer is no!" 
 
 Bruce's white, drawn face dropped back 
 upon his arms, and he sat motionless while 
 
 222
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the Governor continued to speak as though 
 in self commune: "Freedom of will, un- 
 shackled individuality, is the birthright of 
 each son of man, and he who barters that 
 priceless gift is an Esau. ' To thine own self 
 be true and it will follow, thou canst not then 
 be false to any man.' Shakespeare sounded 
 human character to its depths ' to thine own 
 self be true to thine own self!' ' 
 
 The ticking of a large clock above the desk 
 and the rasping cries of the locusts in the 
 trees without were all that broke the silence 
 for many moments. Then Bruce lifted his 
 head, rose, and left the room without attempt- 
 ing a spoken farewell. The Governor made 
 no effort to arrest his departure, but as the 
 young man, his features haggard and his 
 limbs twitching, stumbled down the outside 
 steps, he was followed through the hallway, 
 and a husky, hardly audible voice tried twice 
 to call his name, as he strode into the street. 
 
 Then the Governor leaned heavily against 
 the massive door-frame, weak from the hot 
 anger that had now burned itself out to a 
 poignant regret, ready to beckon and to 
 relent if Bruce should but glance back; 
 but the tall figure reached the corner, turned, 
 and passed on out of sight. 
 
 223
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE exigency that had forced David Carroll 
 to abandon his unfinished studies and assume 
 control of a rapidly enlarging business enter- 
 prise, had, perhaps, served to blight the 
 normal development of the romantic and 
 aesthetic elements of his character. He 
 had never shown much sympathy with the 
 dreamers of the world and none at all for the 
 troubadors and the minstrels, the Pantalons 
 and the Jeremy Diddlers, whose claim to 
 recognition in the scheme of existence seemed 
 to him based on an untenable premise. He 
 had exaggerated views of the dignity of man- 
 hood and the accountability of each soul, 
 and to waste time over the evanescent seemed 
 to him more shortsighted than to squander 
 money in trivial pursuits, for the money 
 might be re-acquired by subsequent effort, 
 but the time was lost forever. 
 
 On one occasion he had been obliged to 
 introduce one of the professors of his alma 
 mater (who was traveling through the South 
 in the interest of modern methods of education) 
 to a room full of school children, to whom
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 was delivered an address on the day of knight- 
 hood, which was eloquently portrayed as 
 the period of the world's prime. At the 
 conclusion of the lecture, the principal of 
 the school, eager to illustrate the close con- 
 centration to the subject in hand that had 
 been inculcated in her pupils, asked that 
 some of the children state in their own language 
 just what they understood by the vocation 
 of the knight just what it was he did. On 
 the instant a boy, flushed with excitement 
 and enthusiasm over what the professor had 
 said, rose to his feet and replied that the 
 "knights fought and killed!" Rather non- 
 plussed by this gory synopsis, the teacher 
 expostulated: "Oh, but did they not 
 do something nobler than that?" A Miss 
 Miminy-Pimmy in one of the back rows 
 who had her little ways for taking the mental 
 temperature of "teacher" and acting accord- 
 ingly, raised her hand, and said with the 
 accent of the goody-goody that the "knights 
 tried to behave theirse'ves." David never 
 quite comprehended the spasms of mirth 
 that convulsed his old professor whenever 
 this novel summary of knightly attributes 
 recurred to him. To young Carroll, it was 
 much more manly to " try to behave one's self," 
 
 225
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 than to go over the land, armed cap-a-pie, 
 engaging in miscellaneous combat, or riding 
 atilt at windmills. 
 
 When his affection for Joyce Patterson 
 kindled into something warmer than a big 
 boy's patronizing interest in a pretty child, 
 he frankly arranged his work so as to be able 
 to spend more of his time in her society, 
 and as she showed no displeasure at his 
 constant companionship, he took it for granted 
 that her feeling for him was akin to his for 
 her. He did not dream that beneath her 
 smiling graciousness lurked a growing resent- 
 ment of his matter-of-course appropriation 
 of the favor he should have been ready to 
 overturn heaven and earth to win. A most 
 painful surprise overtook him when the young 
 lady not only vanished from Hollywood, 
 but from his life almost entirely. Her un- 
 expected action caused great grief to him, 
 which he sought to assuage by a still closer 
 attention to the details of his commercial 
 affairs, and in the furtherance of his scheme 
 to establish a club-room for his employees. 
 As in many a like case, philanthropy was 
 the plaster applied to the pangs of wounded 
 love. 
 
 When Joyce finally returned to her home,
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 followed by so many of her new friends, 
 David felt himself entirely excluded from 
 the circle of care-free "frivolers," as he bitterly 
 termed them, in which the girl so naturally 
 took a place, and, without a word or sign 
 of his disappointment, he buried his fond 
 hopes, thinking them wounded beyond pos- 
 sible revival. 
 
 What his Aunt Nora told him, the evening 
 after her trip to the Kendricks', as to Joyce's 
 unhappiness, acted as a restorative; or, at 
 least, compelled him to admit that the 
 dreary months of separation and misunder- 
 standing, far from killing his affection, had 
 only made it the deeper and stronger. He 
 longed to hasten out and dry the tears of 
 which his aunt had spoken. Tears and Joyce ? 
 He could scarcely credit the tale! However, 
 the rebuff of the previous fall warned him 
 against any such precipitate action. He no 
 longer felt cocksure of his ability to perform 
 so tender a service acceptably; but he was 
 not going to have BOD Pritchett coming 
 down and essaying it ! 
 
 For a few days after Mrs. E-Nora gave 
 him her promise in regard to postponing the 
 invitation to her northern nephew, poor 
 David's heart vacillated between reviving 
 
 227
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 hope and returning doubt, and he decided to 
 wait until after Baity Treadway's wedding, 
 which was to take place a few days later, 
 before he made any plans to discover whether 
 Joyce's heart was still in the highlands or no. 
 
 Baity 's wedding would, under any cir- 
 cumstances, have been a marked occasion 
 in the annals of the neighborhood, for both 
 she and Jim Morgan, her fiance, belonged 
 to the most highly respected and financially 
 substantial of the mountain families. Under 
 Joyce's loving and tireless supervision, the 
 festivities assumed proportions and an elabora- 
 tion of detail far beyond what had ever been 
 known in the social history of the locality. 
 The small, shabby school-house, which also 
 answered for a church when the itinerant 
 missionary made his rounds, and in which 
 the ceremony was to be performed, was 
 converted into a woodland bower by a decora- 
 tive combination of sumach, ferns and flowers. 
 The path leading from the Treadway home- 
 stead to the steps of this building was fenced 
 by flags and brilliant banners floating from 
 tall poles, which were connected by long 
 garlands of green. 
 
 Aunt Philomee was cajoled into baking 
 the elaborate wedding-cake for the supper
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 that was to follow the six o'clock ceremony. 
 The old negress grumbled and grunted as 
 was her wont, while she stirred the rich 
 ingredients in her largest mixing-bowl, though 
 there was no sympathetic ear to listen to her 
 woe, for she had cleared the kitchen before 
 commencing her mystic compound. Had a 
 spectator been admitted he might have been 
 surprised to see that only one half the dough 
 was poured into the buttered and papered 
 baking pan, which Joyce herself had pre- 
 pared; to the other portion more fruit, more 
 liquor and more spice were added, and a 
 mumbo- jumbo of some sort was recited over 
 it, as well as the simpler loaf, before both 
 were set into the oven. 
 
 "Fraish weddin'-cake !" sniffed the skilled 
 caterer. "It may be good 'nough fo' pore 
 white trash, but it ain' gwine do fo' a Patte'son. 
 I'll jes' hab one ready when Miss Ma'y 
 Joyce's tu'n come erlong hit boun' to come 
 turrectly. I done said a chawm ove' bof o' 
 dese yere cakes, 'cause I kinda 'spec' hit 
 'ud be bes' fo' me ef she done ma'y Marse 
 Dave Carroll. Den she stay right heah, 
 an' I gwine stay wif she. Mis' Patte'son, 
 she gwine keep on a-hectorin' pore Marse 
 Bruce now, twell she git him to go back 
 
 229
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 erlong er he' to whar she done come fum, 
 an' ef Miss Ma'y Joyce move he' self outer 
 heah, too, whar I gwine be lef ? So I 
 done cunjuh dat bride-cake good, an* now 
 we-alls gwine see what happen ef she try to 
 go 'way." 
 
 It was the morning of the wedding-day 
 that Bruce started off for his interview with 
 Governor Redfern. There had been an un- 
 mistakable change in the manner of some 
 of his neighbors to him since the trial, and, 
 in his present mood, the very thought of min- 
 gling with those who misjudged him, of taking 
 part in scenes of joy, when his whole nature 
 was in revolt at existing conditions, was 
 exquisite torture. Letitia, also, had declared 
 that weddings always bored her beyond 
 endurance, and had excused herself from 
 attending, and sent her gracious wishes and 
 congratulations with a gift of delicate china. 
 But Joyce was "the whole thing," as one of 
 the kin from "outside" boisterously expressed 
 it. Against her Cousin Letitia's expostula- 
 tions, she was clad in the most beautiful 
 of her gowns, a soft white crepe heavy with 
 elaborate embroidery. On the coiled masses 
 of her curly locks rested a wreath of pale 
 pink blossoms, and on one arm, as she pre- 
 230
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 ceded the bride up the narrow aisle of the 
 school-room, she bore a loose mass of the 
 same flowers. Her neck and arms showed 
 round and white through the filmy lace 
 that but partially veiled them, and about 
 her throat she had clasped two strands of 
 her mother's pearls. 
 
 The eyes of all who were crowded within 
 the small room were riveted upon her when 
 she advanced, and David, wno, with the 
 groom, stood waiting in front of the improvised 
 altar, caught his breath as he saw her 
 moving towards him. Her surpassing loveli- 
 ness fairly stunned him, and he felt himself 
 grow numb and cold. How could he have 
 dreamed that she would ever care for him? 
 Why, this transcendent maiden was the mate 
 for a prince ! 
 
 When the short rite was over and the 
 bridal procession, led by a quartette of small 
 cousins, who scattered flower petals and 
 giggles impartially as they marched, wended 
 its riotous way along the same path that all 
 of them had many times traversed in their 
 school days, David, as custom prescribed, 
 took his place beside the maid of honor, 
 outwardly as calm and collected as ever, 
 but within him there burned new, strange 
 
 231
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 fires. With every step, he fought against 
 a wild impulse to throw himself before those 
 little feet that "peeped in and out" of the 
 silken skirts, and to raise the hem of her 
 draperies to his lips in mute adoration. 
 He ! who had always scoffed at the ridiculous 
 notion of any man kneeling before any woman ! 
 
 During the short hours that followed, 
 hours in which all the Treadway and Morgan 
 kin frolicked and joked and ate, he had no 
 eyes, no thoughts save for Joyce, who led 
 the games, laughed at the jokes and was 
 the soul of the entire assemblage. In a lull 
 between games, old Gran'pap, who, also, 
 had watched the honor maia rather wistfully, 
 called her to his side and said with pathos: 
 
 "I ben 'lowin' to 'tend yore weddin', 
 honey; don't yo' be a-puttin' hit off too long." 
 
 "Oh, but I am never going to marry, 
 Mr. Treadway," Joyce responded gaily, taking 
 the feeble old hand he extended to her in 
 both her own. "I am going to be an old 
 maid." 
 
 The patriarch looked up into the bright 
 face bending over him, and a gleam of vanished 
 youth flashed into his eyes. "I wisht I 
 could hev the chanct to change yore mind 
 fo* yo*," he said vehemently. "Ef I was 
 
 232
 
 The Twelfth Jurvr 
 
 on'y a few years younger than I be, I'd hev* 
 a try fo' yo' yit, ef I died a-tryin' derned 
 ef I wouldn't!" 
 
 The great-grandson who had distinguished 
 himself by kissing Joyce on the day of her 
 visit, and whom she had constituted her 
 special cavalier for this evening by pinning 
 one of her pink flowers on his coat, now 
 spoke out bravely, and in disregard of the 
 jeers and laughter of his many boy cousins: 
 
 "Don't yo' be a-worrittin' 'bout her bein' 
 ary oF maid, Gran'pap. She kin hev me, 
 sure, ef she'll wait till I gits my growth." 
 
 Zulemmy Tyree, in a white gown, with a 
 red bow flaming up from her dusky hair 
 like a liberty cap, and a red sash, only needed 
 a drapery of flags to be the Goddess of Liberty 
 to whom Aunt Philomee had likened her. 
 She and the "contrairy" Ula Bell and Noc 
 had formed one group among the spectators 
 at the school-house, and had followed in the 
 bridal train to the homestead, Zulemmy 
 profuse in her offers to help Balty's mother 
 serve the supper, but with a wistful eye on 
 the merry throng that had collected under 
 the trees in the yard. Mrs. Pritchett, who 
 had consented to let David drive her out 
 for the occasion, caught this glance, and 
 
 233
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 hurried in to insist that she could do am 
 that was needed by the band of bustling nouse- 
 wives now preparing to wait on the guests, 
 and that Zulemmy must go out and join in 
 the fun. "She's young, you know," she said 
 in excuse of her action to those who stood 
 near her. 
 
 "I sure wish she wasn't," said one of the 
 women, pursing her lips and tossing her head 
 in unspoken criticism, while she watched 
 Zulemmy's color heighten, and her eyes and 
 lips grow more mischievous and alluring as 
 she flitted about among the wedding guests. 
 
 One cloud hung in the bright sky of Tread- 
 way felicity that evening and that was the 
 absence of Bill, who, hitherto, had always 
 been the leader in the family amusements. 
 He had been drinking steadily now for days, 
 and sodden and besotted as he had become, 
 he had himself appreciated what a kill-joy 
 he would be at this festal gathering of the 
 clans, and had betaken himself from home. 
 David made an opportunity to inquire of 
 one of his brothers in regard to his condition 
 and to express the fear that Bill had some 
 evil purpose on his mind. 
 
 "Ho!" exclaimed this more sound limb 
 of the old family tree, " don't yo' be a-thinkin' 
 
 234
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 that-a-way. Billy ain't got spirit 'nough lef 
 now to harm a flea, an* I'm a-hopin' he ain't 
 got spirits 'nough lef to drownd one," with 
 a chuckle at his joke. "I was some skeert 
 of what he mought have hit in his head to 
 do at first, but he's too blin' drunk now to 
 do ary thing." 
 
 Bedtime comes early in the mountains, 
 and before nine o'clock the guests began to 
 take their departure, while in a room upstairs 
 Baity and Joyce were changing their light 
 gowns for the ride to Hollywood. With 
 reverent hands the two friends folded the long 
 bridal veil and laid it aside, and then the 
 young wife threw her arms around her maid 
 and hugged her close. 
 
 "I'll sure never forget what you done 
 for us to-day, honey," she said haltingly. 
 "It's all been just too lovely," catching 
 at a phrase she had heard Joyce use frequently. 
 "I just ain't got words to thank you, but 
 when your turn comes ' 
 
 "But I am going to be an old maid, I tell 
 you," repeated Joyce between laughter and 
 tears. 
 
 " Don't you be a-talkin' ary such nonsense," 
 commanded Baity, who had watched David 
 Carroll's face during the evening, and who had 
 
 235
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 already guessed what the situation between 
 the two was. Drawing the girl still closer, 
 she whispered in the ear nearest her: "He's 
 a powerful fine man, Mary Joyce. He's 
 give Jim twenty-five shares of stock in the 
 Company for a wedding gift. Think of that! 
 We will be partners of his," with a touch 
 of new dignity. "He 'lows to let ary of the 
 men that wants to and can save the money 
 buy the stock, but he just up and give it to 
 Jim point blank." 
 
 As the two in their dark clothing were 
 seen coming down the stairs, Mrs. Pritchett 
 called to Baity who held her bridal flowers 
 in one hand : 
 
 "You'd ought to toss your bouquet up, 
 Mrs. Morgan, and let us find out who is to 
 be the next bride." 
 
 " Oh, no, Mrs. Pritchett," Joyce said with 
 haste, knowing that the "real boughten bou- 
 quet" that the groom had ordered sent down 
 from Lexington was of priceless value in 
 the bride's eyes, "I know I would not get 
 it I'm such a poor catch." 
 
 There was another chorus of joking remon- 
 strance, amid which all started for the bars 
 where the horses awaited those who were 
 going to the village. David assisted all 
 
 236
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the women to mount, bodily lifting Baity 
 to her seat behind her Jim on a horse whose 
 head was ornamented with huge white paper 
 rosettes. When Joyce's turn came, he ex- 
 tended his hand, and like a flash her foot 
 had touched it and she was in her saddle. 
 Then accompanied by a shower of old shoes, 
 by farewell wishes for prosperity in its highest 
 degree and by some rather broad prophecies, 
 all started off, followed on foot to the turn 
 of the road by the younger and less tirable 
 of the joy makers. 
 
 Before Bill's cottage, from which a light 
 again shone, Joyce turned her head to look 
 back at the dark figure driving the cart 
 just behind her. She wondered how she 
 could so have mistrusted him even for a 
 moment. The events of the day had made 
 her tender heart more tender, and the generous 
 thoughtfulness for the future welfare of his 
 men, of which she had just been told, added 
 its weight to her estimate of his character. 
 She colored hotly as she realized that she 
 was holding her rein very tight, so that she 
 should not outdistance the cart, which, owing 
 to the fact of Mrs. Pritchett's presence therein, 
 had to be driven with the utmost care. 
 
 Just before the Patterson place was reached, 
 
 237
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the bride and groom held a whispered con- 
 ference, Baity speaking with great earnestness 
 and Jim responding with fond good-humor. 
 At the gate, David thrust the reins into his 
 aunt's hands, in spite of her remonstrance, 
 and sprang to the ground, feeling for Joyce's 
 bridle in the dark that surrounded them, 
 and leading her faithful horse into the yard 
 as if there were great fear of his making a 
 misstep. As they reached the steps of the 
 house, Baity suddenly called from the road, 
 "Ketch!" and a dark object came hurtling 
 through the air toward Joyce, whom David 
 had just lifted to the porch. Instinctively 
 he put out his arm to protect her, and as she 
 extended her hands at the same moment 
 their fingers touched and clasped as the bridal 
 bouquet struck them. 
 
 " Did yo' get it ?" called Balty's voice a 
 few seconds later. 
 
 "Y-yes," stammered Joyce, thrilled by 
 the touch of those strong fingers, "I we 
 we caught it, Baity." 
 
 Before David in his excitement had suc- 
 ceeded in unlocking and opening the door, 
 however, his companion had regained her 
 presence of mind and her accustomed manner. 
 As the dim light from within fell upon her, 
 
 238
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 she pulled one of the flowers from the bunch, 
 and with her most winning smile laid it in 
 his palm. "That is your fee for helping 
 me catch it," she said, her dimples coming 
 and going coquettishly, "your commission, 
 or whatever the matrimonial agencies call 
 their charge. Now that I have this," holding 
 the bouquet forward and bending her head 
 to smell of it, "I am sure to be a bride, 
 some day." 
 
 The young man could not have told how 
 he found his way back to the waiting cart, 
 but all the rest of the way to his home he had 
 no opportunity to study the meaning of 
 Joyce's words, for Mrs. Pritchett, in agonies 
 of fear lest their wheels slip over the edge of 
 the ravine or some other dire accident occur, 
 claimed all his attention. When they were 
 at last within their own door, and that good 
 lady had taken herself off to her room, vowing 
 that nothing could induce her to so imperil 
 her neck again, David sat down and looked 
 at the flower that Joyce had so mockingly 
 bestowed upon him. He wished that he 
 knew how to interpret the actions and moods 
 of a girl; he wished that he could prove to 
 this one girl what she had become to him. 
 Ah! at last he could guess why the knights 
 
 239
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of old had been ready to buckle on their 
 armor and fight to the death for the favor 
 of the ladies of their love! 
 
 After all, to merely " try to behave one's self" 
 was not the acme of human achievement. 
 He had hitherto held in contempt the men, 
 who, according to the old romancers, could 
 haunt the neighborhood wherein their sweet- 
 hearts dwelt, hoping to catch a swift smile, 
 to watch a light behind a certain window, 
 to gloat over a shadow flitting across a curtain 
 but it was only by the grimmest determina- 
 tion that he could now prevent himself from 
 riding back to the Patterson home, there to 
 throw himself on the ground beneath the 
 room in which Joyce slumbered, and to 
 babble to the moon and stars of his love for 
 her. 
 
 240
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 "You look about tuckered out, David," 
 said Mrs. E-Nora to her nephew the next 
 morning, " and I feel as if I'd been through 
 a siege. Better stay at home and keep quiet 
 today. Your head aches, I can tell that.' 
 
 David acknowledged that he was not in 
 his usual perfect health, but stated that with 
 Bill Tread way and Jim Morgan both away 
 from the mill, he must be at his post. 
 
 "I'll try and make it a short day, Aunt 
 Nora," he concluded, seeing how anxious 
 she appeared, "but there is really nothing 
 the matter except that I spent a restless 
 night." 
 
 "You eat some of that bride-cake," said 
 Mrs. Pritchett condemningly. "When the 
 old foolkiller gets round, that article is going 
 to be cut off the list of victuals for Christian 
 stomachs a mess of raw dough and mummy- 
 fied fruit and co/ic/" 
 
 The hands of the clock in the office of the 
 Carroll lumber-yards had never moved so 
 slowly, according to one who impatiently 
 watched them, as they did that day, and 
 
 241
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 when, soon after noon, a heavy shower 
 cooled the air and laid the dust, David no 
 longer tried to resist his desire to ride out to 
 the Patterson home. Though midsummer, 
 the grey air had a tonic freshness after the 
 rain, and the river ran turgid and muddy. 
 As he passed along its banks, it was with 
 unseeing eyes that he gazed upon the logs 
 bumping about near the old dam. There 
 was a strong current (or "tide" as it is called 
 locally) in the water, and some of the more 
 adventuresome raftsmen would, in all prob- 
 ability, attempt to float down from the higher 
 lands; but even this possibility, which ordin- 
 arily would have engrossed the interest of 
 the young lumberman, found no place in 
 his thoughts now. As he neared the point 
 at which the road to the Patterson acres 
 branched from the river road, he drew rein 
 and hesitated, then moved slowly on beside 
 the water. Meh Lady came barking and 
 galumphing down the slope of the mountain 
 at sight of the horse and rider, her sharp 
 yelps changing to woofs of recognition as 
 she leaped and bounded beside him. He 
 could catch but a glimpse of the house, 
 and of a corner of Aunt Philomee's gay 
 bandana-turban bobbing up and down inside 
 
 242
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the kitchen window. 
 
 Again he halted and played with Meh Lady, 
 irresolute as to what nis next move should 
 be. He longed for the sight of Joyce, yet 
 he hardly knew how to account for his appear- 
 ance here at so unusual an hour. At last, 
 after ordering the dog back to her home, 
 he rode on in an undecision that was as foreign 
 to him as the other emotions which had 
 controlled him for twenty-four hours. A 
 mile or more further on, his features suddenly 
 lighted, and he urged his horse towards 
 a definite objective point that he now had 
 in mind. After a time he came to an old, 
 overgrown wagon track that led away from 
 the main road, and turning into it, continued 
 to press forward under trees whose low, 
 overhanging boughs swept their wet leaves 
 across his face, and through underbrush 
 that, long undisturbed, had grown rank 
 and tangled. His mind ran back to a day 
 in the previous autumn, when he and Joyce 
 had ridden through a new clearing in the 
 forest, and had unexpectedly come upon 
 this abandoned path. In idle curiosity they 
 had followed to its end, where, on a small 
 plateau on the side of the mountain, prepara- 
 tions had at one time been made for the 
 
 243
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 erection of a home. All that had ever been 
 completed of the building was the two massive 
 stone chimneys, that now stood like monu- 
 ments of frustrated hopes and purposes. 
 
 In his memory the young man could again 
 see Joyce springing from her horse, when 
 they had penetrated to this spot, and fluttering 
 hither and yon in pursuit of some clew to 
 the meaning of this pathetic record of fruitless 
 designs. How enraptured she had become 
 over the charm of the environment! A more 
 gracious quality in her words and manner 
 that day had encouraged David to believe 
 that she was learning to care for him as he 
 knew he cared for her, and in the weeks 
 immediately succeeding their discovery of 
 this hidden nook, he had, in his uncommunica- 
 tive way, used every means in his power for 
 ferreting out the owner of the tract. When 
 found, young Carroll at once entered into 
 negotiations with him, and finally was able 
 to make the purchase, though at a figure 
 far above the appraised value of real estate 
 in that location. Before all the legal require- 
 ments for the transfer of the title were 
 complied with, Joyce, strangely formal and 
 distant, had left her home for her long visit 
 in the Blue Grass cities, and in the gaieties 
 
 244
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of the gubernatorial mansion and other homes 
 of less public prominence, had apparently 
 lost all interest in the simple lives of her 
 mountain friends. Had it not been for Mrs. 
 Pritchett's reference to the girl's unhappy 
 moments, David might never have pushed 
 his horse through the old road again for 
 he was abnormally sensitive to the folly of 
 his premature action in regard to this land. 
 
 But if Joyce had her moments of dis- 
 satisfaction, if she, too, was learning that 
 life is not all a revel, might she not, in some 
 measure, be consoled by the knowledge, 
 that come weal or come woe should new 
 friends prove kind or false, one friend would 
 ever be true, one heart would beat for her 
 alone ? 
 
 While these sentiments ran riot through 
 his rider's brain, David's horse had slowly 
 moved along, pausing now and again to nibble 
 at the grass that had obliterated the wheel- 
 marks that had in the past been furrowed 
 into this soil. Suddenly, however, the animal 
 lifted its head and gave a low whinny, and 
 the young man, roused from his bitter-sweet 
 reflections, caught a flutter of bright color 
 in the dense leafage of the forest beyond him, 
 and an instant later had made the discovery 
 
 245
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 that the other visitor to this spot was Joyce 
 herself. 
 
 " Good evening, Miss Patterson," he called 
 out to her gaily, though his heart was 
 beating a wild tattoo against his side. 
 
 The young girl glanced back over her 
 shoulder, and after returning the greeting, 
 looked nervously around as if hunting for 
 some exit. 
 
 David's lips set with all the determination 
 that was so conspicuous a factor in his 
 character. 
 
 "You have not altogether forgotten the 
 'lane that leads to dreamland,' as you described 
 
 / 
 
 it once?" he asked, guiding his horse into 
 such a position as to cut off her only means 
 of escape. 
 
 "Forgotten it?" and Joyce, cornered, faced 
 him frankly. "How could any one who 
 had ever seen it forget this lovely wilderness? 
 I only wonder that so few have found it." 
 
 Then both the young people sat silently 
 revelling in the beautiful landscape with its 
 framing of distant peaks. 
 
 Nature had been recklessly lavish in the 
 embellishment of this secluded wild, for 
 in the soil she had sown not only the seeds 
 of the chestnut, the hickory, pine, maple 
 
 246
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and other familiar forest growths to sprout 
 and develop unmolested, but here, also, 
 the tulip tree flaunted its gorgeous bloom; 
 here the stained foliage of the sweet-gum 
 joined elbows with the sourwood, wafting 
 perfume from its myriads of tiny cups; here 
 were the laurel, the holly, the rhododendron, 
 and from bough to bough and from trunk 
 to trunk swung graceful festoons of the wild 
 grapevine. What were the famed odors of 
 Arabv to the fragrance that here abounded 
 in blossom time? A gay carpet of wild 
 flowers lay beneath one's feet, and in shel- 
 tered crevices, ferns of differing species 
 uncurled their feathery fronds. Under these 
 huge trees, one could lie far apart from 
 everything save nature, circled by green walls 
 and roofed by the dome of the sky, and 
 picture a world new created, unmarred and 
 undebased, that Omniscience could pronounce 
 "good." Or if, wearying of solitude, one 
 sought the reassuring companionship of one's 
 own kind, a few steps led to the edge of 
 the bluff, where could be caught, beyond 
 a billowing sea of verdant corn far below, 
 glimpses of the silver flash of the river, bear- 
 ing on its ripples now a flatboat paddled 
 by an erect oarsman, or, again, a wide raft 
 
 247
 
 steered by lumbermen in rough, picturesque 
 garb, who sang lustily as they floated down. 
 
 The soft voice of the girl at length ended 
 the stillness. 
 
 "How could any one bear to give all this 
 up?" she asked. "It must well-nigh have 
 broken his heart. Oh! I feel such pity 
 for the poor soul who had planned a home 
 here, and then was forced to abandon it." 
 
 "Do you?" replied her companion, with 
 but little visible evidence of the emotion 
 that threatened to master him. " One should 
 be thankful for all favors even pity I 
 suppose." Then as Joyce, at this speech, 
 turned eyes of bewilderment upon him: "I 
 am the owner of this land; I bought it last 
 fall after that day when we discovered it. 
 No," as her lips parted in astonishment, 
 "I did not tell you, nor any one. I did not 
 want to talk about it until the purchase was 
 complete, and there were flaws in the title 
 that had to be cleared in fact, we were not 
 sure at one time that they could be cleared, 
 but I was more fortunate than some men 
 who have bought land in this hill country. 
 Once when I was away looking after that, 
 I even went so far as to put some rough 
 sketches I had drawn into an architect's hands, 
 
 248
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 and asked him to make plans along the lines 
 I had indicated. When the deed was on 
 record and the plans were mailed to me, 
 you had gone away somehow, I felt as if 
 you had gone from me forever; so I locked 
 all the papers in the strong-box of my safe, 
 and they are there now, mute evidence 
 like these chimneys of a man's high aspira- 
 tions and their overthrow." 
 
 Joyce's face was a study. Could this 
 be David, straight-forward, matter-of-fact 
 David Carroll, relating such a romance ? 
 
 "I did not know," she stammered at last, 
 her cheeks flushing and paling. 
 
 "You seemed so kind to me the day we 
 were here," he continued, resolved to tell 
 the whole story, " that I was foolish enough 
 to imagine to measure your feeling by my 
 own. I have known very little of girls 
 perhaps I misunderstood. At least, I can 
 now claim the pity you were expressing." 
 He had dismounted, and now threw his 
 bridle over the limb of a tree as he quickly 
 strode to the girl's side. "No! No!" he 
 cried out passionately, as he reached her, 
 "I will not have your pity! Oh! Joyce! 
 Joyce!" seizing one of her hands "You 
 say you are in love with this place wouldn't 
 
 249
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 you couldn't you some day come out 
 nere with me and make it home ?" 
 
 Unconsciously he was drawing her out of 
 her saddle, and now the lovely face that had 
 been shyly averted during his protest, turned 
 to him radiant with a look of joyful surrender. 
 
 "I will come so gladly if you want 
 me, David," she whispered as she slipped 
 down into his waiting arms. 
 
 A rowdy songster, poised aloft in the blue, 
 whistled an impudent encore for the tender 
 tableau. 
 
 "More yet! More yet!" called the quails 
 in the thicket; while the rows of stately trees 
 rustled their leaves in decorous applause. 
 
 "And now," said Joyce, after a time, 
 "tell me more about those plans you say 
 are stuffed away in your safe. Did you con- 
 vince your architect that nothing less than a 
 log-cabin would be suitable here ?" 
 
 "I did," affirmed David with a smile. 
 "I told him to plan a double log-cabin with 
 a second story, and that, in some way, these 
 old chimneys were to be utilized. I told 
 him, also, to figure on the most modern 
 plumbing the water can easily be piped 
 from a spring higher up the mountain and 
 I suggested that some of us that were not 
 
 250
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 born in the South, considered screen doors 
 and windows a necessity. A log-cabin with 
 screens and plumbing! Your critical Cousin 
 Letitia will tell us we are building an anach- 
 ronism." 
 
 "I'm afraid I shan't care much what she 
 says," said Joyce dimpling saucily, "if " 
 and her cheeks grew more rosy, "if we 
 are satisfied. Oh! how I shall love it stuffy 
 screens and water-pipes, and anachron 
 what-do-you-call-'ems and all! And the dog- 
 trot must be wide enough so that any one 
 passing along the mountain road can see 
 right through it to the peak on the 'yon side'; 
 and we must have a hedge of hollyhocks 
 and smoke-bush, or of sumach and golden- 
 glow which do you think would be most 
 effective, David, between the kitchen and 
 the house, and a bright red hammock swung 
 down in that dark clump of trees. Oh! 
 David! David! Are you sure those things 
 are all in your plans ?" 
 
 The young man laughed like a happy 
 boy. "I reckon I must have thought it 
 would be better to leave the hollyhocks and 
 the red hammocks and the golden-glows to 
 you," he responded. 
 
 " Oh ! Are you sure we are really awake ?" 
 
 251
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 asked the girl with a sigh of deep content, 
 as she watched her lover release their horses. 
 "Things have gone all criss-cross with me 
 lately. Bruce is so changed and Letitia is 
 so worried, and I have been so very unhappy. 
 Maybe we will find this has just been 'play- 
 pretend/ as we used to say about anything 
 very nice when we were children. Until I 
 have seen those plans, I shall be afraid that 
 it is only a happy, happy dream." 
 
 "If it is a dream, please God we will never 
 waken, dearest, dearest!" David answered, 
 drawing the two hands that had crept back 
 into his up to his shoulders, while his head 
 bent and his lips met hers once more. 
 
 Then he lifted her into the saddle. 
 
 252
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 NOTWITHSTANDING his reluctance to ask 
 a pardon for a condemned criminal, Bruce 
 Patterson had not reckoned on any possibility 
 of his request being met by a refusal. The 
 Governor, while an intimate friend and crony 
 of his father, and a man sincere in his partizan- 
 ship with the advocates of reforms, had 
 never impressed him as a man of strong 
 individuality or firm convictions. He had, 
 himself, been instrumental in securing the 
 nomination of Judge Redfern for the office 
 of State Executive, partly because, at that 
 time, no other man seemed equally available, 
 but more because he believed the old jurist 
 could be easily swayed by the opinions of 
 those in whom he had confidence. 
 
 Bruce had hesitated from making the plea 
 for clemency towards Tyree, not that he had 
 any doubt of the outcome, but because 
 to his own conscience his willingness to 
 take such a step was but additional proof 
 of how far he had drifted from the old moor- 
 ings, of how ready he had become to sacrifice 
 everything, even principle, for peace and 
 tranquillity of mind. 
 
 253
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 In the eventful visit to his college, when 
 he had renewed his acquaintance with Letitia 
 Phelps, he had, manlike, been flattered by her 
 unconcealed preference for his companionship. 
 Thoughtlessly he had slipped into a false posi- 
 tion, and when, at last, he had to face a 
 misinterpretation of his words and actions, he 
 had felt gagged by the inherited chivalry of 
 the men of his clime, and had been weakly 
 mute at the crucial moment when silence 
 meant acquiescence. 
 
 Like many another, he had leaned upon 
 the broken reed of a love that should spring 
 from marriage, and had been deluded into 
 considering his course unselfish, while it 
 was the acme of selfishness. For not only 
 are the sins of the fathers visited on their 
 offspring, but the foibles, the weaknesses, 
 the mistakes of every mortal being cast 
 their shadows over the destinies of countless 
 innocents. When he wakened to the realiza- 
 tion of the extent to which the false situation 
 he had accepted had reacted upon others; 
 when, under his wife's jealous domination 
 he had been compelled to renounce all but 
 a nominal allegiance to the political party 
 whose platform was substantially of his con- 
 struction, and to abandon his life-long purpose 
 
 254
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of being a leader in the movement for the 
 uplift of his brothers of the mountains, he 
 lost heart, laid down his arms and ceased 
 to struggle against relentless circumstance. 
 Still there were times when he felt as if he 
 had parted from his nobler, better self, who 
 occasionally called to him from outside the 
 maze in which his feet now wandered. It 
 was in obedience to one of these calls that he 
 had accepted the duty of the twelfth juror. 
 
 The Governor's arraignment had both 
 roused his ire and stung his pride, but it 
 had done more, it had diagnosed the cause 
 of his moral suffering he had been untrue 
 to himself. 
 
 He groped his way through the streets 
 like a man blinded by a vivid lightning flash. 
 On and on he walked, not caring where his 
 steps might lead him. Once he stumbled 
 upon a homely scene that made his throat 
 contract convulsively when he contrasted it 
 with the cold formality or the spasmodic 
 tenderness of the relation that existed between 
 himself and Letitia. 
 
 A colored laborer sat on a low fence, holding 
 out a grimy paw, one finger of which was 
 cut and bleeding. By his side stood a neatly 
 dressed negress, tearing strips from a piece 
 
 255
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of cotton cloth that had covered the basket 
 in which she had been carrying some freshly 
 laundered garments. As Bruce neared them, 
 the wife began to wrap the bandage around 
 the wounded member of her husband (that 
 they were husband and wife was patent), 
 the man looking into the face that bent 
 over him with the trustfulness of a child, 
 the while he involuntarily shrank from her 
 firm touch. 
 
 "Tha', tha', now, honey!" she was murmur- 
 ing when Bruce had reached hearing distance, 
 " wah fo' yo' squinchin' yo'se'f up dat-a-way ? 
 I ain' gwine huht yo' any mo' 'n kin holp. 
 Yo' hoi' Mistah Finge' up righ' stiddy now, 
 an' see how scrumptious I gwine fix him." 
 
 The spectator of the little conjugal tableau 
 felt his eyes grow hot with tears, which he 
 dashed away with impatience. Letitia would 
 have urged that the wounded man hurry to 
 the nearest surgeon and have the cut properly 
 and scientifically dressed; she would have 
 criticised the shocking taste of such a display 
 of affection on a public thoroughfare. Her 
 ideas were, no doubt, in strict keeping with 
 the trend of the times, but Bruce envied 
 these poor, ignorant souls, who were yet so 
 truly rich in the possession of each other. 
 
 256
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 After wandering listlessly for a time, he, 
 at last, returned to the hotel and registered, 
 and after dispatching a porter to the station 
 for the hand-baggage ne had left there, 
 he walked out of the hot building and 
 to a cross street that led past a blacksmith 
 shop and some tumble-down shanties to 
 the river. A number of flat-bottom boats 
 were here moored to the bank, and selecting 
 one that was secured only by a knotted rope, 
 he loosened it, stepped in and pushed out 
 into the water. No defined purpose was 
 hi his mind all he was conscious of was 
 the impulse to get away from everybody 
 from everything. He pushed on in the shade 
 of the overhanging branches, until the cool- 
 ness and even flow of the river had soothed 
 his lacerated nerves. In spite of modern 
 dogma as to the omnipotence of mind, there 
 is no finite mind that can withstand the 
 lulling movement of sunlit water. He looked 
 now and again into the green depths beneath 
 him, and just once a thought of the facility 
 with which the snarl in which he had become 
 entangled could be here unravelled assailed 
 him. One plunge, and the sun would not 
 have changed its position in the heavens 
 before he would be at rest! He put the 
 
 257
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 suggestion from him with bitter amuse- 
 ment. Melodrama! He had just heard him- 
 self styled a dastard and a traitor, he would 
 not give any one cause to name him coward 
 as well. Be his future what it might, he 
 must face it. 
 
 When he felt stronger and more tranquil, 
 he rowed back to the place from which he 
 had taken the boat. He had determined 
 never again to yield his individuality; never 
 again to be the puppet of another's caprices. 
 The past was gone beyond recall, but he was 
 a young man and long years lav before him 
 years in which he might retrieve the errors 
 he had made years in which to Letitia's 
 love could be added her respect for her 
 husband, and, possibly, after a more thorough 
 mutual understanding, her husband's love 
 for her; years in which the mountains 
 should, at last, have their champion and 
 their scourge. 
 
 If he could but banish that haunting 
 doubt as to the meaning of the message 
 Tyree's eyes had sent to his! What if it 
 had been, not a confession as he had inter- 
 preted it, but a challenge? What if, in later 
 years, it should be proven conclusively that he 
 had sent an innocent man to the scaffold ? 
 
 258
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 As he neared the shore, he saw the black- 
 smith come down the bank anxiously watching 
 his movements, and he thrust his doubts 
 and fears aside. 
 
 " Was it your boat that I stole, my friend," 
 he called as soon as he was within speaking 
 distance, with the smile that had always 
 won a good-humored response. "I was too 
 warm to stop and ask for it; but, if it is yours, 
 I am in your debt deeply in your debt," 
 with a meaning that was lost to his hearer. 
 
 The blacksmith smiled also. "Oh, there 
 ain't no question of debt," he said with a 
 negative gesture as Bruce's hand crept towards 
 his pocket. "I'm mighty glad yo'-all took 
 it. It's a good little boat if it does leak some," 
 and he caught the rope and made it fast as 
 Bruce stepped to the bank. "Ain't this 
 Mr. Bruce Patterson ? I heard yo'-all speak 
 a couple of times before the last election, 
 but I ain't seen anything of you since; you 
 ain't been here lately, have you?" The 
 two climbed the steep road together, and the 
 blacksmith continued: "I jus' did enjoy 
 hearin' yo'-all speak. Seemed 'sif yo'd got 
 hold of the right of it. I wish I could hear 
 yo' again some time soon." Then as they 
 reached the street, the speaker looked back: 
 
 259
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 " I just love that old river," he said earnestly. 
 " Seems sometimes as if she knew what was 
 ailin' yo' an' what to do for yo'. I reckon 
 there's sightlier rivers in this world I reckon 
 you've seen most of them but I don't believe 
 there's such a comfortin' river anywhere on all 
 God's earth as this old Kaintuck." 
 
 At the entrance to the hotel the two parted, 
 Bruce reiterating his thanks for the boat, 
 and promising, at the other's invitation, to 
 come down some day and let the owner 
 take him out in it. 
 
 The chance meeting with this simple- 
 hearted workman who had been impressed 
 with his political speeches, added its balm 
 to the healing of the river, and Bruce bore 
 himself more erect; there was renewed sparkle 
 in his eyes and a greater buoyancy in his 
 manner as he passed through the office of 
 the hotel on the way to his room. Just 
 before he was out of hearing, the clerk called 
 after him, and met him as he stepped back, 
 holding a letter towards him. "It was left 
 here while you were out," he explained, 
 placing the envelope in Mr. Patterson's 
 hand. 
 
 With the missive crushed tight in one palm, 
 Bruce mounted to his room. In the short 
 
 260
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 space of time that he had been on the water, 
 he seemed to have lost touch with all on shore. 
 It was almost as if he had obeyed the impulse 
 that bade him make a last resting place 
 beneath the shining ripples of the river the 
 past had no longer a claim upon him. He 
 threw the letter on a table and let it lie un- 
 opened while he washed his face and made 
 some slight changes in his dress. Then, 
 with a sigh, he picked it up and tore off the 
 end of the envelope, and drew out a short 
 note from the warden of the penitentiary, 
 stating that Judson Tyree had asked re- 
 peatedly to see Mr. Patterson, and if the latter 
 wished to comply with the prisoner's desire, 
 he might call on the following morning at 
 nine o'clock. 
 
 After another night of horror, a night in 
 which the anticipated appeals and upbraid- 
 ings of the convict, the stubborn distrust of 
 Letitia and the cold aloofness of most of his 
 former friends recurred to him in torture 
 that was akin to madness, Bruce, at the hour 
 appointed by the warden, summoned what 
 fortitude remained to him and went to the 
 prison entrance. There was some formality 
 and delay about his admission, but, at length, 
 the warden himself appeared and welcomed 
 
 261
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 him. He led Bruce to his private office, and 
 after a little desultory conversation, said: 
 "I have no notion what it is Tyree wants 
 to tell you, Mr. Patterson; but he has begged 
 to see you several times, and when a man 
 is in his situation I always feel like he'd ought 
 to have everything he asks for that we can 
 get for him. One of the guards saw you go 
 to the Governor's yesterday evening, and 
 spoke to me about it, so I sent the note to 
 the hotel for you. I will have Tyree come 
 down here where you can talk to him more 
 comfortably. It ain't exactly according to 
 Hoyle, but I reckon you're entitled to some 
 privileges if he ain't" 
 
 He went out, and Bruce when he was left 
 alone felt his blood mount so that his ears 
 were aflame, while his feet and hands were ice- 
 cold. Of course this man, Tyree, only wished 
 to insist upon his innocence and denounce the 
 man who nad dared call him guilty. 
 
 In a few moments steps sounded in the 
 corridor and the prisoner was led in by a 
 guard. Tyree's shoulders stooped and he 
 was ghastly pale and thin. He extended 
 one bony hand to his visitor with a feeble 
 "Howdy," and Bruce while holding the hand 
 in his own was struck by its loss of muscular 
 
 262
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 strength. The guard went to a window 
 and raised the shade, and after the two men 
 had seated themselves, said: "I will be 
 waiting just outside the door, Mr. Patterson," 
 in reassuring tones, and withdrew, leaving 
 the door ajar. When he was out of sight, 
 though within hearing, the prisoner raised 
 his head. 
 
 "I ben askin' to see yo', Bruce Patterson. 
 I was keen to see yo', an' the warden, he 
 'lowed yestidy mebbe yo'd come-by." 
 
 "I am glad to come if there is anything 
 I can do for you, Mr. Tyree," Bruce 
 answered cordially, thinking the man must 
 wish to send some message to his family, 
 as he showed no signs of enmity to him. 
 
 "Yes," Tyree repeated, "I was a-wantin' 
 to see yo' powerful bad. Ef yo' favor yore 
 paw, oF Hi Patterson, yo're a honest human, 
 an' I've got somethin' to fix up while while 
 I'm here an' I 'low yo're the one to help 
 me fix hit." 
 
 "I will do all I can for you, Mr. Tyree," 
 asserted Bruce once more, "whatever it may 
 be." 
 
 "'Tain't nary thing fer myself I'm a- 
 wantin'." Then after a pause: "I've got 
 a little boy, as peart as yo' ever see, an' sence 
 
 263
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 I come here, I've ben a-studyin' 'bout him, 
 an' I 'lowed ef I could on'y git a chanct I'd 
 ask yo' to taken him. I heerd onct what 
 yore Paw aimed to make outen yo', an' 
 I've ben a-thinkin' I'd like my boy teached 
 jes' that-a-way to help the folks in these 
 yere mount'ins. I don know how 'tis we've 
 got ourselves into sech a tanglemint but 
 what with the feud-fights an' the moonshine, 
 an' the poison whiskey they bring in from 
 outside, seems like our ol' ways of livin' 
 had got stirred into a kin' o' sour mixtery, 
 an' somebody's got to take holt an' sweeten 
 hit up again. I ben a-studyin' that, mebbe, 
 yo' could git Noc teached like yo' was an' 
 ne could help yo' do hit. Hit won' be done 
 in ary one numan's life, nor two, neither, 
 but ef some of yo' would jes' take holt an' 
 make a start, things wouldn't git no worse, 
 nohow." 
 
 "You mean," said Bruce in some bewilder- 
 ment, as Tyree sat wetting his dry lips with 
 the end of his tongue, "that you want me to 
 take charge of your son and have him live 
 with me? Would not his mother object 
 to that?" 
 
 "Ho! Zulemmy, she ain't his Maw. Noc's 
 Maw died when he was on'y a year old. 
 
 264
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 His Maw was a good woman, ef there's ever 
 ben ary good woman on this yere earth an' 
 no boy ain't never had a better Gran'paw 
 than Noc. He favors his Gran'paw, an' 
 mebbe he'll grow to be like his Maw's kin. 
 Thar's somethin' more I was aimin' to say 
 to yo'," with cautiously lowered voice and 
 a troubled glance at the partly open door. 
 ** I got right smart o' land up thar on Trouble- 
 some plumb full o' coal! In the loft to 
 my house yo'll find a tin box hid away in 
 a cornder o' the roof, an' in thet box thar's 
 some papers law writin'. Yo'll find thar 
 the writin' they give me when I boughten 
 that trac' o' land. Hit's all fer Noc. Yo' 
 kin sell part of hit, or bony on hit to pay 
 fer his keep an' his schoolin', an' when ne's 
 a growed man, I 'low the railroads '11 be down 
 in the mount'ins, an' that land '11 be worth 
 right smart money; 'nough any way so't 
 my boy won't hev to do ary kin' o' stiddy 
 work, but kin jes' take holt and help git 
 some better laws made, an' git honester 
 men to make the laws. I 'lowed yo'd see 
 the squire here, or down to Hollywood an' 
 git him to make the writin' an' send hit to 
 me to sign my mark, so't that land '11 be 
 Noc's. Zulemmy, she kin hev the farm, 
 
 265
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 if she wants hit, but she don't know nary 
 word bouten this land, an' I want Noc to 
 have hit. I'm a-askin' a powerful sight o' 
 yo', but I reckoned yo' was the man to ask.' 1 
 
 " I will be glad to do it for you, Mr. Tyree," 
 answered Bruce, touched by this unexpected 
 confidence, when so many were showing him 
 distrust. " I will do my utmost to see that your 
 son becomes a much better and more useful 
 mountaineer than I have been, more loyal 
 to his home, to his own people, and to himself." 
 
 Tyree did not look up, but sat with head 
 bent and hands loosely clasped while he spoke : 
 "A human gits to studyin' when he's pen- 
 itentured," he said slowly. " There ain't much 
 else that he kin do; an* I ben a-studyin' over 
 some of these yere tanglemints we-all have 
 got ourselves twisted up in. Then I ben 
 a-studyin' whose say-so made killin' the mean- 
 est crime there is. The Lord, he didn't 
 make nary diff'runce betwixt the ten com- 
 man'munts when he give 'em out, an' 's far 
 as I have heerd, the Bible don't tell us nowhar 
 that killin' is so powerful much worse than 
 breakin' ary of the ten. I ben a-studyin' 
 'bout them first five comman'munts, an' why 
 humans ain't never penitentured fer a-breakin' 
 them! 
 
 266
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 " The preacher, he comes an' reads to me 
 mos' ary day now, an' when I asked him 
 why thar wasn't no jailin' fer those that 
 broke them first five comman'munts, he said 
 he 'lowed the Lord was aimin' to punish 
 them hisself in the nex' world. Ef that's 
 so, I'm glad I've got mine here. I ben 
 a-studyin' too, that, mebbe, ef them first five 
 comman'munts was better kep' thar'd be 
 more chanct fer the las' five bein' kep'. 
 I don't know; I ain't had nary schoolin' an' 
 like's not I figure hit out wrong." 
 
 A moment later he raised eyes flashing 
 with hatred. "I tell yo' thar's some humans 
 that's got to be killed! Take these yere 
 sassy revenues that comes a-sneakin', an' 
 a-pryin', an' a-pokin' theirselves in ary kin' 
 o* dirty work gittin women-folks into scrapes, 
 an' a-houndin', an' a-huntin' men down 
 that ain't done ary wrong. Fer thar ain't 
 nary word in the hull ten comman'munts 
 'bout not usin' what yo've planted and growed 
 ary way yo' choose. I ain't talkin' 'gainst 
 Gov'ment; hit don't see what-all kin's o' 
 devilmint goes on down this-a-way; hit don' 
 know how the officers hit sends down here 
 keeps a-stirrin' up all the mount' ins with 
 meanness. They got to make some show 
 
 267
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 o* earnin' their pay, so they riles up water 
 that was all clear an' sweet afore. An' 
 an' that one he come to my home 'lowin' 
 he was a-lookin' up the metes an' boun's 
 o' a trac' o' land he was aimin' to buy; an' 
 me so dumb as to believe what he said an' 
 take him right in. He hung roun' an' hung 
 roun', a-goin' off to the thick timber, whar 
 he said his land was, ever' day, an' a-purtendin' 
 he was measurin' out that land ; an' Zulemmy 
 a-fryin' chicken fer his supper, an' a-tyin' 
 up her hair with red ribbons, like she used 
 to do when her an' me was a-talkin'. He 
 'lowed he never seen nary such peart boy as 
 Noc, an' he used to git him to tellin' tales 
 an' laugh at all his foolishness. An' one 
 mornin' he says: *Noc, le's yo' an' me go 
 fer a ride on oF jinny-mule' an' Noc was 
 plumb crazy to start off. He's always took 
 to a horse or mule yo' kin hire him to do 
 ary thing yo' want fer yo' ef yo' on'y let 
 him hoi' the reins over a horse's back. I 
 wasn't 'lowin' to use jinny that day, so I 
 let 'em ride off." 
 
 The speaker again drew his tongue across 
 his parched lips. He had spoken in louder 
 tones since he had been telling of this visit 
 from a revenue officer, and neither he nor 
 
 268
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 his listener was aware that the guard at the 
 door had changed his position so that every 
 spoken word was audible to him. Tyree's 
 features had grown more pinched and grey, 
 but his eyes blazed fiercely as he continued : 
 
 " I was over to my potato patch that evenin', 
 when I heerd talkin' on the road, an* 
 an' then they come along. Jinny-mule was 
 hitched to a wagon, along of a horse, an* 
 oP Christiansen an' his boy Jeff was in the 
 wagon, handcuffed, with what was lef o' 
 their still betwixt 'em. That damned revenue 
 was a-sittin' on th' front seat, a-laughin' an* 
 a-jokin' with two others who was ridin* 
 longside, an' Noc, my boy Noc, was a-drivin*. 
 When they see me, Noc, he calls out: 'O 
 Pappy, Pappy, watch me a-drivin'!' An' 
 oF Christiansen, Noc's Maw's uncle, he 
 looked out at me, an' he says: 'Hit's a 
 drive he'll be sorry fer to the las' day o' 
 his life, Judson Tyree! I an' my son ain't 
 goin' to fergit this against yo' an' yore son, 
 when we gits free again. I never 'lowed yo' 
 was sech a coward as to send Jerindy's boy, 
 my own blood-kin, out to do seen dirty 
 work.' 
 
 " I jes' stood thar an' couldn't say nary word; 
 an' one of the revenues 'lowed 'at Gov'ment 
 
 269
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 had ought to let Noc wear a star 't he was a 
 smarter officer than ary o' them, fer they'd 
 ben a-hangin' roun' fer days, a-tryin' to locate 
 Christiansen's still an' ketch him, an* all Noc 
 had to do was to ride right up an' call 'em 
 an' they come right out o' their hole. I'd 
 taken Noc over thar a couple o' times, an' 
 he knew the way, an' when Christiansen 
 see Noc on jinny-mule them revenues was 
 a-hidin' whar they couldn't be seen, he 
 thought I was along somewhar, an' when 
 Noc called to him, he jes' walked right into 
 the trap they'd baited with my boy. Afore 
 I could git my tongue loosened up, they 
 all driv' off, an' lef' me a-standin' thar. 
 Noc an' the mule was to home when I got 
 thar, but the others had gone on. 
 
 " Fer a whiles things didn't seem nary diff'- 
 runt from what they'd alwavs ben, an' then a 
 change begun to come. Folks never come-by, 
 nor stopped to say 'howdy' no more an' 
 one day a boy at school twitted Noc with 
 what his pappy had done fer his maw's 
 blood-kin. I got my ol' gun down an' taken 
 hit out to the field when I was out thar 
 I can't say exac'ly why I done hit. I reckon 
 I 'lowed 'twouldn't do nary harm ef 't wasn't 
 needed, an* ef trouble came, hit was handy by. 
 
 270
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 One day I was out a-diggin' an' I heerd a 
 call, an' thar, lookin' over the rails, was the 
 sassy face of that revenue. I didn't answer 
 nary word when he 'lowed he'd like to git 
 me an' Noc to holpen him on another job 
 we'd done sech slick work afore. I asked 
 him what in God's name he was a-comin' 
 roun' me fer, an' he 'lowed he didn't know but 
 I'd want to send a message to Christianson. 
 'He thinks a-powerful lot o' yo' an' Noc,' 
 he said a-grinnin'; an' he sat thar a-crowin', 
 an' a-foggin', an' a-twitterin', till I was 
 plumb crazy. At las' he 'lowed he mus' 
 be a-gittin' on he'd on'y come out to git 
 another kiss from Zulemmy. 
 
 " I got down my gun that was up in the 
 crotch of a tree, an' I tol' him, as he wasn't 
 armed, he could have as long as hit taken 
 me to count twenty to git off my land, an' 
 back to the turn in the road, an' ef he hadn't 
 rid off by that time, he'd go off a quicker 
 way. He turned white round his mouth, but 
 I reckon he thought I was on'y a-foggin'. 
 'Thar needn't be no hard feelin' 'twixt yo' 
 an' me, Tyree,' he says; 'I've kissed lots 
 o' women as pretty as Zulemmy an' rid off 
 an' fergotten 'em.' I kep' on a-countin* 
 best I knew how, I never had nary schoolin'
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 an' when I gits to twelve, I ain't plumb sure 
 how the figures come after that. When I 
 got to sixteen, he see at las' that I was meanin' 
 what I said, an' his knees shook so't he 
 couldn't scarcely stand. 'Don't shoot! Don't 
 shoot, Tyree,' he said. 'My gun's away 
 down in my saddle bag, an' yo' won't shoot 
 an unarmed man.' 
 
 " I never stopped my countin' an' when I 
 said twenty, I aimed an' fired, jes' as he 
 tried to climb on his horse's back. He fell 
 inside my land, an' I dragged him out an' 
 through the bresh till I got to the turn in 
 the road, an' then I lef him thar in the 
 highway whar they found him. His horse 
 run when he fell, an' run till he reached 
 the next settlement, an' fer a long while no 
 one suspicioned me. When they did, at 
 first I thought I would say I did hit, an' then 
 thar was Noc, an' the Christiansens threaten- 
 in' to start a feud with him, an' squire 'lowed 
 I'd get off any way cause hit had been a 
 long time sence ary man had been sentenced 
 fer a killin' in these mount'ins, so I took 
 my trial fer hit." 
 
 Bruce, whose nerves were all on fire, and 
 who found it difficult to breathe, at last 
 managed to gasp: 
 
 272
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "You did kill him you acknowledge it?" 
 
 Tyree looked at him with surprise. 
 
 "Why, yo' know I done hit!' he exclaimed 
 with no trace of emotion. "I see at the 
 trial, when yo' was took as the twelfth iuror, 
 that yo' knowed I done hit, an* I tor the 
 squire who was a-fightin' fer me that thar 
 wasn't nary mite o' use." 
 
 Bruce hid his face with his hands, and his 
 whole body quivered as its rigid nervous 
 tension relaxed. The condemned man sat 
 eyeing him with sympathy, but said noth- 
 ing further, and the guard in the corridor 
 could be heard whispering to some one who 
 had joined him. When he was sufficiently 
 calm, Bruce raised his head. 
 
 'Tyree," he said brokenly, "this talk 
 has meant much to me. Is there nothing 
 I can do for you personally? I will be glad 
 and proud to adopt your son and have him 
 educated as you wish, and I will have a 
 lawyer draw up a will for you to sign without 
 delay; but I wish I could do something for 
 you, yourself. Is there nothing in this world 
 you would like ?" 
 
 He rose to his feet as he spoke these words, 
 for he had caught the warden's voice without 
 and knew the interview must end. Tyree 
 
 273
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 rose also, a clumsy, bent figure, yet there 
 was genuine manhood within that uncouth 
 shell. 
 
 "No, I reckon not," he said, exhibiting 
 no signs of emotion as Bruce grasped his hand 
 in farewell. " Things has never gone straight 
 with me here, an' now Noc's fixed fer, I'm 
 jes' as glad to to go on. Ef I was to live, 
 Christiansen an' Jeff 'd always be a-watchin' 
 fer me an' Noc. But when I'm gone, 
 ef yo'll jes' tell 'em how hit all come about, 
 they'll believe yo', an' Noc he'll be safe." 
 
 274
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 THE adult population of Hollywood and 
 its vicinity had been sadly puzzled by Mr. 
 Patterson's action since the Tyree trial. When 
 it was understood that the twelfth juror 
 was making strenuous endeavors to have 
 the adverse finding of the jury annulled, 
 the whole proceeding seemed so strange, 
 so unprecedented, that even Bruce's most 
 sincere friends regretted this manifestation 
 of a radical change in their erstwhile leader. 
 
 Bill Treadway, especially, had for months 
 previous to the trial been harboring a grudge 
 against him, and had resented the stubborn 
 fact of Bruce's undisputed supremacy over 
 those among whom he had been born and 
 grown to man's estate. Bill, in his years 
 of "soldierin'," had tasted of the fruit of 
 the tree of worldly knowledge, and was no 
 longer satisfied with his minor role in the 
 drama of life. He had learned that democracy, 
 ostensibly the corner-stone on which our 
 government rests, is a sham; that the old 
 battle-cry, "Freedom forever," is but a mean- 
 ingless yell that accords with the crashing, 
 
 275
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 spluttering firecrackers of Fourth of July 
 celebrations, and like them is repudiated 
 and forgotten for another twelve-month, as 
 soon as the din of the Nation's Birthday 
 festival dies away. This gave him an oppor- 
 tunity to point out a weakness in the man, 
 a chance he had no hesitation in adopting. 
 
 Treadway had lost the spirit or the true 
 Kentucky mountaineer the spirit of childlike 
 content and had become bitterly envious 
 of all those whom the possession of wealth, 
 education or talent raised above their fellows; 
 and Bruce with his mines, his years of study 
 and travel, and his local fame as an orator, 
 was the unwitting target at which he most 
 often aimed his hostility. He had, like many 
 another, freely criticised the outcome of the 
 Tyree trial and he, like most of the others, 
 had considered it a play for rehabilitation 
 in official toga, until the evening when he 
 had found Zulemmy, with her gypsy-like 
 beauty and her subtle fascination, under 
 his roof. Then another motive for getting 
 rid of Tyree awoke in his mind, a motive 
 which he was not loath to impute to a brother- 
 man! 
 
 Just at this time he was seized by his 
 periodical craving for liquor, and in his 
 
 276
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 over-stimulated brain, facts and fancies 
 became undistinguishable. Only one thing 
 remained perfectly clear to him his hatred 
 
 J V 
 
 for Bruce Patterson and his desire to avenge 
 on this one man, all the wrong, the injustice 
 of which he imagined himself the victim. 
 If in his own vengeance he could include that 
 of Tyree, and thus leave a clear field for 
 further advance into the favor of the woman 
 who was beguiling him, so much the better. 
 He wandered over the country, sleeping 
 now in the open, now at a cabin of an acquaint- 
 ance, trying ever to quench the burning 
 thirst that was consuming him, his beclouded 
 wits intent upon one purpose. 
 
 On the other hand, Tyree's wife was 
 conscious of her increasing fear of this man 
 with his bold blue eyes, his reckless speech 
 and his masterful tone. After David Carroll's 
 visit, Zulemmy had made what for her was 
 an effort to persuade Bill to stop drinking 
 and go back to his work, but her coaxing 
 had only added fresh fuel to the fire of passion 
 she had kindled within him. 
 
 She began to recall her own home, the 
 forlorn little cabin with its few tilled acres, 
 not so much for any attachment she had 
 for it, as from a desire to escape the conditions 
 
 277
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 in which she was now placed. Zulemmy 
 disliked worry equally as much as work. 
 She had also an agreeable anticipation of 
 the envy she would arouse in the breasts 
 of her old neighbors by the exhibition of her 
 recently acquired finery and the "pretties" 
 that would so transform her humble abode. 
 
 At Baity Treadway's wedding, one of the 
 guests, a distant cousin of the groom, had 
 driven over from the vicinity of the Tyree 
 farm, and during the evening, in the course 
 of a talk with Zulemmy, he had remarked 
 that he had business that would take him on 
 to Booneville but that he would be passing 
 the Treadway place on his return two days 
 later, and if she said so, he would stop and 
 take her back to her home. 
 
 "Yo'd ought to see how things is gittin' 
 along that-a-way," he said, hardly expecting 
 that she would accept his invitation, she 
 seemed so prosperous and happy here. "I 
 on'y got a one-seated rig, an' I got right 
 smart o' wool rolls to take back, but I reckon 
 yo' an' Ula Bell could set with me, an' Noc 
 could crowd in back." 
 
 Zulemmy for once thought quickly. 
 
 " I 'low Noc could stay on here," she said, 
 remembering all the new belongings that 
 
 278
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 must not be left behind. "Somebody '11 
 be a-comin' over yan directly, an' kin fotch 
 him. I got a powerful sight o' things to take." 
 
 The suggestion ended by the man agreeing 
 to stop and take her, and all the day after 
 the wedding Zulemmy spent in washing and 
 ironing for herself and her children, and in 
 bargaining for a packing box at the cross- 
 roads store. The next morning she lifted 
 Noc up to a seat behind one of the Treadway 
 men who was riding to Hollywood, and who 
 agreed to drop Noc off at Patterson's gate. 
 
 "Yo' tell 'em, Noc, 'at I'll come an' fotch 
 yo', tomorry, mebbe," the stepmother said, 
 touched by the pathetic little figure that 
 smiled at her from the horse's back so trust- 
 fully, and with her unfailing good-nature, 
 she at once began to scheme to pack her 
 treasures into such small compass that there 
 would be room for the boy to ride back 
 home with her. 
 
 After she had watched him out of sight, 
 she gathered together all the clothing, the 
 pictures, dishes, vases and other bric-a-brac 
 that had been gifts from Letitia and Joyce. 
 She had seen nothing of Bill for two or three 
 days, and she hoped to get away without 
 another of the encounters that she had grown 
 
 279
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to dread. If she now thought of her husband 
 at all, it was with a passive regret for some 
 one who had dropped from her life; she had 
 never had any confidence in Letitia Patterson's 
 scheme for his release. 
 
 Towards the middle of the afternoon, 
 while she was bending over the packing 
 box, wrapping the more fragile articles safely 
 in the folds of the clothing, she heard a noise 
 behind her, and, turning, met the wild eyes 
 of Bill Treadway, who stood in the door, 
 one hand on each side of the frame. 
 
 "Howdy, Bill," she said bravely with her 
 slow smile, though her knees trembled and 
 her hands shook with fear at his savage 
 expression. 
 
 He made no response, but stepped forward 
 into the room. 
 
 One peculiarity of Bill's drinking periods 
 was that the liquor, no matter how much 
 of it he drank, produced little change in his 
 physical condition; the potency of it all 
 went to his brain. As he now advanced, 
 Zulemmy looked up at him with all her 
 natural coquetry, and said : 
 
 "I ain't never 'lowed yo' was a man that 
 'd loaf 'round home in daytime when there 
 was ary thing to do." 
 
 280
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 "I got something to do all right," he re- 
 joined sullenly. " Where's that gun o' mine ?" 
 
 "Yore revolver?" looking at him with 
 the guileless eyes of a baby and unconsciously 
 taking advantage of the opportunity for the 
 exercise of the dramatic instinct latent within 
 her. "Why, yo' taken hit away yoreself. 
 Don't yo' remember ?" 
 
 "No, I didn't," he returned. "It's here, 
 an* I want it now." 
 
 "Weh-ell!" she drawled, noting the savage 
 flash of his eyes, and realizing that there 
 was no one to hear a call for help except 
 the "contrairy" baby-girl in the next room. 
 "I sure 'lowed yo' taken hit. Mebbe hit's 
 somewheres 'round this-a-way. Noc mebbe's 
 been a-playin' with hit he's powerful fond 
 o' thet fittle gun. I'll git him to look for hit 
 when he comes back this evenin'." 
 
 "You git it now," he said, taking another 
 step towards where she stood. ''You hear? 
 You git that gun for me, or you'll be mighty 
 sorry." 
 
 Zulemmy continued to stand and smile 
 at him, though her blood ran cold with fear. 
 She wished that she had given the revolver 
 to David to keep until Bill was sober again. 
 Instinctively she knew that some calamity 
 
 281
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 was to occur if Bill once got possession of 
 the weapon. She summoned up all her 
 courage. "Reckon yo' 'low 'cause I'm 
 a-livin' in yore house, yo' got the right to 
 boss me," she said saucily. "I ain't goin' 
 to stop in nary house an' take sech orders as 
 those. I'll git that gun fo' yo' when I git 
 good an' ready, an' that ain't now." 
 
 Bill seized her by one shoulder and shook 
 her. 
 
 "Yo're a-goin' to stay in my house till 
 I put yo' out," he said angrily, "an' yo're 
 a-goin' to git that gun now." 
 
 Zulemmy, in spite of the physical pain 
 he caused her, still tried to temporize: "Thet 
 so?" she said. "Yo' 'low I'll stay here 
 till yo' git that wife o' yores? Mebbe," 
 with a glance at him and then away, " mebbe, 
 I wouldn't be a-keerin' ef I had to stay 
 longer 'an that." 
 
 But her companion was deaf to all her 
 blandishments. 
 
 "Damn you!" he exclaimed with fury, 
 clutching her shoulder again until she winced 
 with anguish. "I ain't got no time for no 
 sech f oohn'. You git that gun !" 
 
 " Thet's a pretty way to speak to a woman, 
 an* yo' a so ger, she retorted, determined 
 
 282
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 not to let him have the revolver. " Ef them's 
 the words yo' speak when yore a-talkin' 
 to ary girl, I ain't a-wonderin' yo' can't 
 git nary one to hev' yo'." 
 
 Bill wasted no more time in speech. He 
 strode past her and searched every hiding 
 place. As he was engaged in this, his eyes 
 fell on the half-packed box and he halted 
 beside it. Then he stooped and picked out 
 two of the pictures that lay near the top, and 
 carried them to the stove in which a low 
 fire smoldered. Lifting one of the lids, he 
 crushed a picture between his hands and 
 threw it on the embers. In a second a 
 tongue of flame blazed up and licked the 
 dry paper and cardboard, and he threw the 
 other picture in, also, and returning to the 
 box, caught up a handful of articles. 
 Zulemmy, horror stricken, rushed to the stove 
 and tried to draw the burning pictures out, 
 and to prevent Bill from throwing anything 
 more onto the fire. 
 
 "Oh!" she screamed, using her bare palms 
 in her effort to put out all the fire that re- 
 mained. "Don't do that, Bill! Don't burn 
 my pretties! I'll do ary thing yo' want! 
 I'll I'll kiss yo', Bill! I'll I'll stay here, 
 ef yo' want me to. Oh! Don't!" as another 
 
 283
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 handful was crowded into the stove. 
 
 "Git that gun!" he commanded, his lips 
 drawn back and his teeth showing in a savage 
 grin. 
 
 The woman who could endure physical 
 pain without flinching was not proof against 
 the destruction of her treasures. Slowly she 
 backed away from the stove, her eyes riveted 
 on the hand that still held some of the con- 
 tents of the box, found the hiding place of 
 the revolver and laid it on the window-sill 
 without a word. Bill tossed the articles 
 he still held in his hand to the bed, caught 
 up his weapon and started for the door, 
 while Zulemmy sank upon the floor in a 
 passion of tears and sobs. Her deep distress 
 touched a chord in the man's nature that her 
 coquetry had missed. 
 
 * Don't you be a-cryin' so, honey," he said, 
 coming back to her side. "You jes' stay 
 on here an' be a good girl, an' I'll get you 
 nicer things than he ever give yo'." 
 
 Zulemmy refused to answer or to look up, 
 and Bill, after a few moments, left the cabin 
 and stole off down the road and into the 
 woods. When she was sure she was alone, she 
 rose and hastily collected everything that had 
 been scattered about and stuffed them into 
 
 284
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the box. Then she went after a wheel- 
 barrow that stood outside the lean-to and 
 pushed it up to the door, and after much 
 frenzied manipulation, managed to lift the 
 box on to it. Ula Bell had been loudly wailing 
 for some time, and her mother now went and 
 comforted her, and carried her down to the 
 nearest of the Treadway homes. Here she 
 related her pitful tale: "Bill was crazy 
 drunk, an' had come an' ben a-throwin' her 
 pretties into the fire, an' she was scared to 
 stay up thar alone fer fear he'd come back." 
 
 The one of Bill's sisters-in-law to whom 
 she happened to appeal was a middle-aged 
 woman from another section of the state, 
 with gaunt features and a mouth in which 
 all of the front teeth on the upper jaw were 
 gone, and those on the corresponding part 
 of the lower jaw were abnormally long, 
 who had often been the butt of Bill's raillery 
 and heartily disliked him. She was full 
 of sympathy for Zulemmy, and went with 
 her to push the wheelbarrow and its load 
 down the slope. For some reason Zulemmy 
 made no mention of the revolver. 
 
 "'Low yo've ben a-hevin' more'n yore 
 sheer o' trouble lately," she said kindly, 
 as she closed the door of the small cabin, 
 
 285
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 after they had removed the last of Zulemmy's 
 things from it. "Mebbe yo've brung hit 
 on yoreself, Mis' Tyree, but I don't jedge 
 no one. Folks thet's got more'n their sheer 
 o' good looks is always lackin' in good sense, 
 I reckon." 
 
 On the following morning, true to his word, 
 the man from her home neighborhood stopped 
 at the Tread way bars, and found Zulemmy 
 awaiting him there. Possibly he had not 
 calculated on the size of the load he was to 
 transport, for he seemed rather gruff, and 
 when asked to turn back and get Noc, he 
 refused outright. 
 
 "Then ^o' send 'em word thet he kin 
 stay thar till some one comes-by for him," 
 said Zulemmy to her hostess of the previous 
 night. " An' tell 'em to come an' fotch away 
 their things from thet cabin ary time they 
 wants to." 
 
 Mrs. Tread way agreed to give these mes- 
 sages, and she also helped the man lift the 
 box and bundles into me wagon-box, while 
 Zulemmy with Ula Bell in her arms climbed 
 up to me seat. Before the wagon started 
 the same soft-hearted, plain-visaged woman 
 slipped some windfall apples and a few 
 slices of bacon and cold corn-pone into the 
 
 286
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 driver's pockets. "'Low the little gal an* 
 yo-all '11 DC some hungry afore yo' gits to ary 
 eatin' place," she said hospitably, and stood, 
 with her hideous black sun-bonnet drawn 
 down over her forehead, waving a knuckled 
 hand at them as they drove away. 
 
 "She'll be a-rollin' them black eyes o* 
 hers at him, an' like as not, he'll be a-talkin* 
 foolish afore they gits to Bear Track," she 
 said to herself. And as she walked back 
 to her door, rubbing the arms that ached 
 with the weight of the box she had helped 
 lift, she added as if excusing her kindness: 
 "Some humans is bornd to wait on an' some 
 is bornd to be waited on, an' thar ain't nary 
 mite o* use a-fightin' 'gainst thet, I reckon." 
 
 287
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 WHEN Bruce Patterson left the penitentiary, 
 he went at once to the office of a friend in 
 the legal profession, and put into his hands 
 a brief memorandum of the details to be 
 embodied in the will that was to be drawn 
 up for Judson Tyree's signature. This 
 errand finished, he started for the Capitol 
 building, as it was his wish to see the Governor 
 at once, and renew his fealty to the cause 
 he had so weakly deserted, and to bind himself 
 irrevocably to a definite future course; but 
 the reaction from the strain of those awful 
 fears and doubts that had just been quelled, 
 added to the wakeful hours of the previous 
 night, had resulted in a demand for sleep that 
 was uncontrollable, and he hastened back 
 to the hotel, threw himself on his bed and 
 sank at once into slumber so profound that it 
 was like veritable coma. 
 
 When he awoke, hours later, the day was 
 drawing to a close, and as it was past the 
 time for the departure of the homebound 
 train, he sent a telegraphic message to his 
 wife that he would return the following 
 
 288
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 evening. After he had eaten his supper, 
 the languor induced by a long daytime nap 
 clung to him, and stepping out to the wide 
 porch of the hotel, he drew a chair into a 
 quiet corner and sat down. A group of men 
 seated near him, most of whom were known 
 to him personally, were engrossed with the 
 perusal of their evening papers that had 
 lust arrived from the state metropolis, and 
 he noticed, as he lighted a cigar, that their 
 eyes wandered from the papers they read 
 to where he sat. Finally one of them ap- 
 proached him. 
 
 "That was a most remarkable interview 
 you had in the prison this morning, Mr. 
 Patterson," he said tentatively, holding out 
 the paper he had brought with him, and 
 drawing a chair nearer the side of the man 
 he addressed. 
 
 Bruce looked surprised at being thus ac- 
 costed, and the man thrust the journal into 
 his hands. "They have an account of it 
 in here," he said. "Those prison guards 
 probably all earn something on the side 
 by acting as reporters, and it was telephoned 
 to the city in time for them to rush it into 
 their late edition." 
 
 Bruce took the paper and glanced through.
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 the article pointed out to him. He frowned 
 as he read one or two gross misstatements, 
 but as he handed the sheet back to its owner, 
 he only said quietly : 
 
 "The facts as published are practically 
 correct." 
 
 "I should think that confession must have 
 been a godsend to you," his companion 
 suggested, after they had smoked in silence 
 for a time. "I was mightily astonished 
 when I heard you were serving as juror in 
 one of those mountain murder cases. By 
 George! I'd never let them get me on a 
 jury where the case to be tried was one of 
 homicide, 'specially down there. I'd be afraid 
 I'd be haunted or be mixed up in feud-fights 
 all the rest of my life whichever way I decided. 
 Trial by jury is practically played out anyway. 
 It's hard to get a man of even ordinary 
 intelligence to serve as a juror nowadays. 
 The counsel for both sides spin it out so long, 
 and introduce all sorts of irrelevant matter, 
 not to speak of their personal quarrels in 
 open court, and their endless objections 
 and exceptions. A business man just can't 
 afford to sit on a jury that's about the 
 size of it." 
 
 Bruce hardly heard these words. His 
 
 290
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 thoughts were on the published account of 
 the conversation between Tyree and himself. 
 There were several subscribers to this paper 
 in Hollywood besides himself, and this column 
 with its flaring head-lines would be read there 
 Letitia herself would read it. It was for- 
 tunate that he had not returned to his home 
 that day, for now there would be no need 
 of any words on the subject between them. 
 With other errors of the past, it should all 
 be blotted from remembrance and a new 
 start should be made in their wedded life. 
 
 The following morning he returned to 
 the lawyer's office, read the draft of the 
 will that was to be sent to the prison for 
 Tyree to sign, and was instructed as to what 
 steps would be necessary to take in case he 
 should decide to legally adopt Noc. Then 
 after writing a long letter to Governor Redfern, 
 which he hoped might make a subsequent 
 interview less harrowing to them both, he 
 boarded the train for home. As he rode 
 into the mountains, it was with almost a 
 boy's exultation that he looked back upon 
 what the past two days had accomplished 
 for him and others. There was no longer 
 a possibility that an innocent man might 
 suffer the death of a criminal, and he was 
 
 291
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 confident that maudlin sympathy for Tyree 
 would be misplaced. With that threat of 
 the Christiansons, father and son, hanging 
 over him, and the other " tanglemints ' in 
 which he was involved, Tyree's resignation 
 to the punishment the law nad meted out to 
 him was not unnatural. 
 
 As the engine pulled into one after another 
 of the small stations, Bruce fancied he could 
 see the old friendliness in the faces of the 
 loafing men, who lounged up to the train 
 and called their " howdy V to him. At 
 Hollywood he was surrounded as he stepped 
 from the car by men who pressed him closely 
 with questions regarding the published report 
 of his visit to the prison, but it was done 
 in a spirit of interested kindliness these 
 brothers of the mountains meant to con- 
 gratulate him, not to criticise. 
 
 Again he passed over the old river road, 
 and again his mind was aglow with the great 
 possibilities for the future of his native land. 
 He could behold the fulfilment of the proph- 
 ecy that from this soil there might, in time, 
 spring the flower of civilization. There was 
 much that he could do to further that end. 
 There was his place in the political arena 
 that must no longer be vacant; there were 
 
 292
 
 . The Twelfth Juror 
 
 David Carroll's schemes for the betterment 
 of his lumbermen that could be aided and 
 supplemented by a like endeavor for his 
 miners. He hoped that the future would 
 reveal to David and Joyce their mutual need 
 of each other, for he felt that they would 
 be truly mated. The knowledge that here- 
 after he would have charge of the development 
 and training of a young boy quickened his 
 pulse, for he loved all children and Noc had 
 already won his heart. He rejoiced that he 
 was still young, that so much of life lay ahead 
 of him. 
 
 With light feet he turned from the river 
 bank into the road leading up the mountain. 
 Beyond and above him stood the giant tree 
 that marked the second turning, its enormous 
 trunk screening all that lay behind it, its 
 gnarled, twisted roots rising like serpents 
 above the sandy soil. He could not see the 
 figure that had crouched hidden here the 
 previous night until the cocks had signalled 
 the coming of morn, and that had returned 
 to the same spot an hour before to again 
 listen and wait. 
 
 Just before Bruce reached this tree, he 
 thought he heard a movement in the under- 
 brush by the roadside, like that of a small 
 
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 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 animal scurrying to cover. He halted, bent 
 his head and peered into the shadows. 
 
 There was a sharp report like the snapping 
 of a dry twig, a flash of light and a curl of 
 smoke; then a groan and a long, shuddering 
 sigh and the tall, lithe figure that had 
 swung so easily over the road suddenly 
 stumbled, stooped forward, and then sank 
 slowly slowly until after one convulsive 
 movement, it lay face downward, a huddled 
 inert mass between the writhing tree-roots. 
 # $ $ 4 4* & 
 
 The journal with its account of the inter- 
 view between the prisoner Tyree and the 
 twelfth juror reached Hollywood on the 
 morning after its publication, and was carried 
 with the other mail, and the telegram from 
 her husband (held in the local office until 
 some one could conveniently deliver it) to 
 Letitia. She read the latter with an ejacula- 
 tion of impatience, for in her self-centered 
 fashion she loved Bruce and was weary 
 of his absence from her. After she had 
 looked through the letters, she carelessly 
 opened the paper and ran hastily through 
 its columns. The local news had little interest 
 for her, but she liked to read the foreign 
 telegrams, and occasionally the editorials en- 
 
 294
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 tertained her. After some moments of desul- 
 tory search, her eye was arrested by the 
 printed name of her husband, and the report- 
 er's version of Tyree's confession was grasped 
 by cold, icy fingers as she read it. It was 
 brief, but long moments fled as she sat staring 
 at that one paragraph that was branding 
 itself on her mind. At last the paper slipped 
 to the floor, but she still sat looking out 
 into vacancy. She was conscious of the one 
 fact she had been wrong. After these 
 weeks of frenzied endeavor in a cause of 
 which she acknowledged to herself she had 
 been practically ignorant, she was forced 
 to admit that she had been mistaken in her 
 judgment. There was none to share the 
 mortification with her her own actions, her 
 own words had placed her in a position where 
 no denial would avail. With burning eyes 
 she looked across the green stretches of 
 field and forest. How she hated it all! 
 This mountain dwelling, bare and crude, 
 that even her artistic taste and skill had 
 failed to transform into what in her mind 
 stood for a comfortable habitation; these 
 long-isolated people and their primitive cus- 
 toms, their lack of enterprise and their un- 
 reasoning optimism! Yes, she hated it; 
 
 295
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 Bruce must be induced to leave it! 
 
 Towards evening she dressed herself with 
 more than ordinary care and as she came 
 down the stairway to await the arrival of 
 her husband, she looked exquisitely dainty 
 and fair; but her ears were scarlet with 
 excitement and her strange eyes gleamed. 
 
 Down in the ravine at one side of the house, 
 she could see David Carroll and Mary Joyce 
 sitting together in the wide swing. From 
 the kitchen window floated strains of an 
 old plantation song hummed by Aunt Philomee 
 as she bustled about some extra cookery 
 in honor of the home-coming of the master. 
 Under the trees Noc and Meh Lady romped 
 merrily together. 
 
 As the hour for the arrival of the train 
 grew near, Letitia became more and more 
 nervous; a new, strange timidity had seized 
 her. She walked restlessly about the porches, 
 not wishing to intrude on the two young 
 persons in the swing, whose heads were 
 closely bent as they examined some large 
 
 Eapers. No confidence had yet been made 
 er, but she knew from Joyce's face and 
 David's manner that they shared a tender 
 secret. She was glad of it, for this new bond 
 would insure her the closer companionship 
 
 296
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 of her husband. She would have mocked at 
 the suggestion that jealousy in any degree 
 colored her attitude, yet she hotly resented 
 every interest that drew Bruce's attention 
 from her. 
 
 Aunt Philomee waddled from her kitchen 
 door to ask how soon Bruce might be expected. 
 
 "Very soon now, Aunty," Letitia replied 
 with unusual graciousness. " I saw the smoke 
 from the train curling over the mountain 
 several minutes ago, so it is on time tonight. 
 Are you making something nice for supper?" 
 
 "Well," drawled the old negress, antagon- 
 ism banished for the time by the pervading 
 atmosphere of joyous expectancy: "I ain' 
 sayin' des how good it gwine be. I bin 
 a-stirrin' up what I felt like might temp' 
 him. He ain' bin eatin' 'nough to hahm 
 him dese las' weeks, an' dar ain' no sense 
 in a-frazzlin' a body's life out fo' folks dat 
 do' know if dey is eatin' jowl an' greens 
 or johnny-cake." As she spoke she walked 
 to the end of the porch and glanced down 
 at the two in the swing and chuckled tri- 
 umphantly. "Huh! I suah did conjuh dat 
 bride-cake," she said. Shading her eyes with 
 her hand, she peered down the road. "Heah! 
 You Noc! You come heah!" she called 
 
 297
 
 The Twelfth Juror 
 
 to the boy who still played with the dog. 
 "You-all spry eh dan me. Des climb' up 
 on dis yere rail, an' look between de fork o' 
 dose branches an' see ef dar ain' a somebody 
 a-comin' erlong dat road." 
 
 " Is hit Uncle Bruce ?" asked the boy, 
 as he ran quickly to her. "Is Unc' Bruce 
 a-comin' home this evenin' ?" using the name 
 that Joyce had taught him. 
 
 Letitia had drawn near, and now laid 
 a hand on one of the child's shoulders and 
 shifted his position. "You are not looking 
 in the right direction, Noc," she said gently. 
 ''There! Look over there, between the trees. 
 Do you see any one on the road ?" and with 
 her hand still clasping the small shoulder, 
 she leaned far forward. 
 
 So they watched and waited for him. 
 
 298
 
 UC SOUTHERN 
 
 A 000115563 9