"Y—y—yes, sir," stammered the boy, frightened half out of his life.
"Who was it?" thundered the lawyer.
"Mr.—Mr.—Cave."
"Aha, I thought so. Now, sir, tell us what Mr. Cave said to you—and be careful—very careful."
The boy looked perfectly helpless and hopeless for a moment. Pembroke almost felt himself tremble.
"He said—he said, sir, some of the lawyers would holler at me, and maybe confuse me—but if I jes' stuck to the truth, and didn't tell nothin' but what I seen with my own eyes, I'd come out all right!"
Shouts of applause greeted this, which the sheriff vainly tried to quell. The great man remarked to his personal staff, sotto voce, "It's all up. Pembroke's case is too strong for us."
It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day when Pembroke's closing argument was over, and the jury had been instructed and had retired. The Judge's instructions rather damped Pembroke's hopes. The testimony of the deserters, while actually of great effect, was legally not worth much—their motive in shoveling the blame on Marsh was too obvious. And Cave's protégé, although his testimony was remarkably straightforward, was little better than a vagabond boy. Pembroke was not so sanguine of his own success as his opponents were.
The court house was dimly lighted by a few sputtering candles and an ill-burning lamp. The Judge sat up straight and stern, fatigued with the
