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London, Jack, 1876-1916

"A Daughter of the Snows"

"
"The place was areek with blood," St. Vincent cried passionately,
springing to his feet. "I tell you it was areek! How could I avoid
floundering in it, fighting as I was for life? Can you not take my
word--"
"There, there, Gregory. Sit down. You are truly beside yourself. If
your case rested with me, you know you would go free and clean. But
these men,--you know what mob rule is,--how are we to persuade them to
let you go? Don't you see? You have no witnesses. A dying woman's
words are more sacred than a living man's. Can you show cause for the
woman to die with a lie on her lips? Had she any reason to hate you?
Had you done her or her husband an injury?"
He shook his head.
"Certainly, to us the thing is inexplicable; but the miners need no
explanation. To them it is obvious. It rests with us to disprove the
obvious. Can we do it?"
The correspondent sank down despondently, with a collapsing of the
chest and a drooping forward of the shoulders. "Then am I indeed lost."
"No, it's not so bad as that. You shall not be hanged. Trust me for
that."
"But what can you do?" he asked, despairingly. "They have usurped the
law, have made themselves the law."
"In the first place, the river has broken. That means everything. The
Governor and the territorial judges may be expected in at any moment
with a detachment of police at their backs.


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