The Edge of the Shadow
"No, Randolph," he said, "you cannot hang him."
"And why not?" cried the Justice of the Peace, aroused now, and defiant. "Is Mansfield above the law? If he kills this madman, shall he have a writ of exemption for it?"
"But he did not kill him!" replied my uncle.
Randolph was amazed. And Mansfield shook his head slowly, his face retaining its ironical smile.
"No, Abner," he said, "let Randolph have his case. I shot him."
Then he put out his hand, as though in courtesy, to my uncle. "Be at peace," he said. "If I were moved by fear, there is a greater near me than Randolph's gibbet. I shall be dead and buried before his grand jury can hold its inquisition."
"Mansfield," replied my uncle, "be yourself at peace, for you did not kill him."
"Not kill him!" cried the man. "I shot him thus!"
He sat down in his chair and taking the pistol out of the rosewood box, leveled it at an imaginary figure across the portico. The man's hand was steady and the sun glinted on the steel barrel.
"And because you shot thus," said Abner, "you did not kill him. Listen, Mansfield: the pistol that killed the Abolitionist was held upside down and close. The brand on the dead man's face is under the bullet hole. If the pistol had been held as usual, the brand would have been above it. It is a law of pistol wounds: as you turn the weapon, so will the
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