Fortunately, just at that moment Small’s desire to relieve himself from the taint of suspicion and to crush Ralph as completely as possible, made him overshoot the mark by asking that Walter be called to the stand, as we have before recounted.  He knew that he had no tool so supple as the cowardly Walter.  In the very language of the request, he had given Walter an intimation of what he wanted him to swear to.  Walter listened to Small’s words as to his doom.  He felt that he should die of indecision.  The perdition of a man of his stamp is to have to make up his mind.  Such men generally fall back on some one more positive, and take all their resolutions ready-made.  But here Walter must decide for himself.  For the constable was already calling his name; the court, the spectators, and, most of all, Dr. Small, were waiting for him.  He moved forward mechanically through the dense crowd, Bud following part of the way to whisper, “Tell the truth or go to penitentiary.”  Walter shook and shivered at this.  The witness with difficulty held up his hand long enough to be sworn.

“Please tell the court,” said Bronson, “whether you know anything of the whereabouts of Dr. Small on the night of the robbery at Peter Schroeder’s.”

Small had detected Walter’s agitation, and, taking alarm, had edged his way around so as to stand full in Walter’s sight, and there, with keen, magnetic eye on the weak orbs of the young man, he was able to assume his old position, and sway the fellow absolutely.

“On the night of the robbery”—­Walter’s voice was weak, but he seemed to be reading his answer out of Small’s eyes—­“on the night of the robbery Dr. Small came home before—­” here the witness stopped and shook and shivered again.  For Bud, detecting the effect of Small’s gaze, had pushed his great hulk in front of Small, and had fastened his eyes on Walter with a look that said, “Tell the truth or go to penitentiary.”

“I can’t, I can’t.  O God!  What shall I do?” the witness exclaimed, answering the look of Bud.  For it seemed to him that Bud had spoken.  To the people and the court this agitation was inexplicable.  Squire Hawkins’s wig got awry, his glass eye turned in toward his nose, and he had great difficulty in keeping his teeth from falling out.  The excitement became painfully intense.  Ralph was on his feet, looking at the witness, and feeling that somehow Bud and Dr. Small—­his good angel and his demon—­were playing an awful game, or which he was the stake.  The crowd swayed to and fro, but remained utterly silent, waiting to hear the least whisper from the witness, who stood trembling a moment with his hands over his face, and then fainted.