The sheriff took a place by his side, and the father and son walked on toward the jail.

After a few moments the minister began to speak in a low voice: "My son, you have reached a momentous point in your life's history.

Much depends on the words you use.

I will not tell you to conceal the truth, but you need not incriminate yourself--that is the law"-- his voice was almost inaudible, but Harold heard it.

"If Slocum dies--oh, my God! My God!" His voice failed him utterly, but he walked erect and martial, the sun blazing on his white forehead, his hands clinched at his sides.