Shepherdstown Register

SAVED BY A LETTER.
Here is a truthful representation of a California arrest, trial, conviction, appeal and reversal of verdict. A man had robbed a coach running between Stockton and Sonora, concealed the money (all he could carry) about his person, sought lodgings not far away, and in the night had risen, stolen a horse and struck a bee-line across the country toward a station where he could get quick transportation to San Francisco, intending to start home by steamer. He belonged to Arkansas. In the morning the horse and rider were missed. A party started in pursuit, and in twenty-four hours had his horse broken down and him corralled. He saw his game was up, and coolly awaited the result. The party overhauled him at early dawn.
"Good mornin', stranger."
"Good mor'n."
"See anything of a man about your size straddled a sorrel mare lookin' a heap like the one you ride?"
"No, I haven't."
"That's a putty good mare o' yourn."
"Yes. she's worth a cool five hundred, but she's a little winded now; say, mister, I'll give you five hundred clean boot for that one o' yourn and stop the deal."
He was making a good bluff, and although he knew that he was recognized his offer would well pay for the broken down horse, and he hoped that his money would save him. He counted without his host.
"That's a straight blind, yourn, pard, and it strains us to come in. but we're thar, and hold you over. You look a little played out as well as the mare. If you jist git down and join our party it'll stretch your legs, and mabbe you need stretching all over."
He blanched a trifle, but obeyed in dogged silence. The pursuers all dismounted, and the spokesman approaching threw over his head a noose, passed the other end of the rope over the limb of a tree that overshadowed them, and called the other members of the party around him.
The culprit stood erect; not a muscle quivered.
"Now, pard, is everything all right?
Does it fit your neek according to Hoyle?"
"All right."
"Have you got anything to say why this little picnic shouldn't proceed?"
"Nothin'."
"Have yer got any word to leave to yer friends? If yer have, make it short, for we've got to break camp inside of ten minutes."
The stranger raised his eyes from the ground for the first time and looked his self-appointed judge and executioners steadily in the eyes for a moment, and then drawing from his pocket a crumpled letter, spoke with a slight tremor of voice: "Perhaps you are a better scholar than I be. If you just read that and be kind enough to answer it I'll tell you what to say."
The executioner had already passed the coil of rope to his comrades and they had drawn it taut. He took the letter, and as the party stood around him ready to run up the culprit at the first signal he opened it and read aloud:
B- —. Arkansas. January 19. '86—My Dear Son James: For long weary months I have waited for news from you since your last kind letter to your old mother. God bless you James, and answer my prayer that this letter may reach you. thanking you for your ever thoughtful care of me in my old age. I received the money. and it kept me from sore need. But once more to look into your face and feel that you were near me would cheer my old heart more than to possess all the gold in California. When are you coming home? You promised me in the spring you would come back to me. May God prosper you and return my dear boy to my arms before I die. From your loving mother.
He began the letter in a strong, clear voice, but before the closing words his reading was hardly audible and tears stood in the eyes of the rough men who listened breathless to its contents. The rope had slacked until it dropped from the hands of his comrades, and as the breath of morning rustled the leaves of the trees above them and God's sunlight shimmered down through the opening boughs, melting their hearts to pity, the thoughts of each were busy bringing memories of their own boyhood days and a mother's loving prayers.
Silence for a few minutes; then reverently folding the soiled bit of paper, the reader passed it to its owner, and without a word slipped the noose from his neck. In tones as gentle as a mother's asked: "Was you going home, stranger?"
"Yes."
"Good-bye."
The stranger dared not trust his voice in thanks, but drew from his belt a small bag of twenties and offered it to the leader.
"Hoss?"
"No: take her, and—good bye."
He mounted the mare and slowly moved away. while the party watched him out of sight; then turned and slowly retraced their steps to camp.
The court was adjourned.