Yessir, I killed a man. An' they
want to kill me for it. That's the law--Canadian law--the law that wants
an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, an' where there ain't no
extenuatin' circumstance. They call it murder. But it wasn't--was it?"
He waited for an answer. The mouse seemed going farther and farther away
from him. He leaned more heavily on the table.
"It wasn't--was it?" he persisted.
His arms reached out; his head dropped forward, and the little mouse
scurried to the floor. But Falkner did not know that it had gone.
"I killed him, an' I guess I'd do it again," he said, and his words were
only a whisper. "An' to-night they're prayin' for me down there--she 'n
the kid--an' he's sayin', 'Pa-pa--Pa-pa'; an' they sent you up--to keep
me comp'ny--"
His head dropped wearily upon his arms. The red stove crackled, and
turned slowly black. In the cabin it grew darker, except where the dim
light burned on the table. Outside the storm wailed and screeched down
across the Barren. And after a time the mouse came back. It looked at Jim
Falkner. It came nearer, until it touched the unconscious man's sleeve.
More daringly it ran over his arm. It smelled of his fingers.
Then the mouse returned to the corner of the table, and began eating the
food that Falkner had placed there for it.
The wick of the lamp had burned low when Falkner raised his head. The
stove was black and cold.
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