The Angel of Lonesome Hill | Page 6

his head, and turned to face the table.
He cleared his throat, then opened a flannel collar, already loose, and
his eyes glistened.
"You're sick!" exclaimed the President rising. "Waiter--some brandy!"
"No--just a little dizzy.
"Mr. President," he slowly began, "this is a case that all the papers in
the world can't tell--nor all the men--there's none just like it.
"It's not for the boy--it's not for me. I took her from her folks against
their will, and I've not panned out lucky--but that's not to the point.
She's sick; the doctor can't help her--nobody can but you--I wish you
might have seen her from the window yonder."
The half-finished luncheon was disregarded; the President had sunk
into his chair, and the keen discrimination of a king of affairs was
struggling with a strange fascination.
"Long ago, Mr. President, I had an enemy--Bill Hartsell--we shot each
other." He held up a withered hand. "It's been a feud ever since. His
boy and mine went to war in the same company--both as brave as ever
wore the blue. When they were waitin' to be mustered out Bill's boy
was murdered in his tent--in his sleep. Bill was there and swore he saw
my Richard do it.
"One night, a month ago, my woman--she's a great woman, Mr.
President--the sick folks down in my country call her 'The Angel of
Lonesome Hill'--well, she had a dream that Bill Hartsell wanted to see
me. I hadn't laid eyes on him for years. I strapped on my six-shooter
and she said, 'No--it isn't that kind of a trip--it's peace.'
"I put down the shootin' iron and went--it was a long way--two days on
horseback. I got to Bill's cabin at night; I went in without a knock; I
wasn't afraid. Bill's folks were round the bed. He arose and cried out:
'John, I sent for you; it was a damn lie I told--your boy didn't do it'--and
then Bill died."
For the moment the old man's agitation mastered him.
"I remember, Mr. Dale. 'Ves' told me; he brought the statements of the
family--and yours. I've been thinking of it ever since--and a great deal
these last two days. Tell me, why did you happen to come?"
"Mother had a dream that said the time was up."
Dale spoke as calmly as though delivering a message from a neighbor.
Fear was not even a memory now. He stood erect; the stone he had

slowly pushed up many steep years was near the summit--one mighty
effort might hurl it down the past forever.
"Just a word about that boy, Mr. President. At Cold Harbor his
regiment stood in hell all day; he was one of those who pinned his
name to his coat so his body could be identified--after the charge. Well,
in that charge the flag went down, and a man went out to get it--and he
fell; then another--and he fell; and then a thin, pale fellow that the
doctors almost refused sprang forward like a panther--and he fell. They
were askin' for a volunteer when a staff officer called out: 'Good God!
He's alive! He's got it! He's crawlin' back!'
"They had to lift him off the colors; he didn't know anything, . . . and
that was my boy, Mr. President--that was Dick!
"Funny how he enlisted," Dale resumed after a moment. "He'd been
tryin' to get in, but I kept him out. One night his mother sent him for a
dime's worth of clothes-line--and he never came back. He's not bad, Mr.
President; he's good--he gets it from his mother."
Dale lifted his head with pride: "When I was on the jury I heard Judge
Long say no one could be punished if their name wasn't written in the
indictment. Now, they didn't only convict Dick--they convicted his
mother--this whole world's her prison--and it's illegal, Mr.
President--her name wasn't written in that indictment--and it's her
pardon I want."
The President arose and walked the floor. "How could the man who
saved those colors shoot a comrade in his sleep? Mr. Dale, my faith in
human nature tells me that's a lie!"
He stood for an instant at the window, looking over the fountain, the
river, the tall white Washington needle which pierced the sky, then
quickly stepped to the table and lifted a glass:
"Mr. Dale, I propose a toast--'The Angel of Lonesome Hill' . . . her
liberty!"
* * * * *
As they returned to the office there was nothing extraordinary in the
President's vigorous step--that was known the world around. There was
something most unusual, however, in the radiant soul--the splendid
ancient youth of the quaint figure by his side.
At the door where the policeman had watched the waiting pilgrim the
President shook the old man's hand.

"Come