to speak a word, or lift his hand, if his wife and mother had been killed
before him.

But they couldn't do any thing. They would have lain their lives down for
him at any time, but that wouldn't do any good. The lowest, most ignorant
laborer in their employ had power in this matter, but they had none. They
had intellectual power enough, which, added to their utter helplessness,
only made their burden more unendurable; for they comprehended to the full
the knowledge of what was past, and what must come in the future unless
help came quickly. They had the strength of devotion, the strength of
unselfish love.

They had the will, but they hadn't nothin' to tackle it onto him with, to
draw him back. For their prayers, their midnight watches, their tears, did
not avail, as I said: they went jest so far; they touched him, but they
lacked the tacklin'-power that was wanted to grip holt of him, and draw
him back. What they needed was the justice of the law to tackle the
injustice; and they hadn't got it, and couldn't get holt of it: so they
had to set with hands folded, or lifted to the heavens in wild appeal,--
either way didn't help Paul any,--and see him a sinkin' and a sinkin',
slippin' further and further down; and they had to let him go.

He drunk harder and harder, neglected his business, got quarrelsome. And
one night, when the heavens was curtained with blackness, like a pall let
down to cover the accursed scene, he left Cicely with her pretty baby
asleep on her bosom, went down to the saloon, got into a quarrel with that
very friend of hisen, the saloon-keeper, over a game of billiards,--they
was both intoxicated,--and then and there Paul committed _murder_,
and would have been hung for it if he hadn't died in State's prison the
night before he got his sentence.