The Argosy, Vol. 61, No. 4 — page 35: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

DONE BROWN. My first impulse was to get up and punch his head. But I could not kill him, and he could kill me. So I groaned again. ‘* Sevior,’ I moaned, “I am very ill. I think I am dying.” ‘You must not die. shot.” ‘““What is the difference, senor, since I will die anyway?” ‘“ But—it is the governor’s orders that you be shot, not that you die in here.” ‘“ But, sefor, listen. I cannot help it if I die. Is there no priest?” The happy remembrance of the padre who had brought me Nellie’s note sud- denly came to me. “Oh, priest! Well, I know there is a priest.” ‘“And a medico?”’ “That is a different thing. If you are dying, you may have a priest.” ‘“T will thank you, sefor.” Grumbling something to himself, he went out, and when [I heard the door bang shut and the bolt shoot back into its socket, I sat up. That was a happy thought. I won- dered if the good padre would help me as he was willing to help Nellie and her parents. But if he was, his good- nature would need to be stretched far- ther than it was in their case. At first the most natural thought came to me to communicate, through the padre, with the American consul. But Wakler had told me communication was difficult, and nobody had responded to the appeal Innors had made. The mes- sage had undoubtedly been intercepted, and would be in my Case. In some way or other, I must do the trick myself. My head buzzed as | thought of this plan and the other, all of which seemed good till I struck up against the grim wall of impossibility. _ I could appeal to Washington, and by the time the message had reached there I would be dead. The door of the cell was opened again, and I huddled on the floor and moaned. : ‘‘ Pretend no more, son,’ said the gentle voice of the padre. “It is I.” I turned, and saw his kindly face look- ing down at me. I got on my feet. “They told me you were ill and 2 A You are to.be 593 wished to see me,” he said. “I knew that a robust man of your, country does not get ill so easily. I knew that you wished to see me to ask questions. You wish to know of your friends.” ‘In the first place—yes, padre. How are they?” ‘“Well, Senor Innors has completely collapsed. He is now as ill as he ever was.” “Then the execution is again de- layed?” ‘Yes. He will not be shot until his health is sufficiently restored.” “Explain that to me, padre. A man is near death, and they are determined to kill him, yet do not until he is well.” “The reason is clear, When a man is very ill with the accursed fever we have here, he is in abject misery. He wishes to die. To shoot him then would be merely to give him relief; to end his sufferings. That is not punishment. They punish a man—vent their hatred on him—by shooting him when he is well, in the vigor of health, and the desire to live is strong within him. Thus does the small mind reason. ‘There are, however, humane reasons why this should be so, for only a well man can fight for justice and his rights. We will not go into a long dissertation. It is enough that the thing is. so.” “True, padre. And how are the la- dies? ”’ ‘Sad, of course. Mrs. Innors faints frequently, and weeps, but the seforita seems strong now that you are here. She seems to feel that somehow you will suc- ceed. Yet I confess I do not see how.” ‘When am I to be shot?” ‘With Innors.”’ ‘And that depends on his recovery?” “Yes. It will not, with our previous experience to guide us, be sooner than a month or two. Perhaps longer.” “Now, how far are you willing to go to help us?.” ‘How far—to help you—how far am I willing to go—” “To help us escape. ing yourself in any way.” “I was not thinking of myself. I was considering my duty.” “Is it your duty to see innocent per- sons killed? Is it your duty to stand by and see a man shot so that a scoun- Without risk- Ghoo (©