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Rh certainty of penalties suited to their crimes. And all men want to make them do right is the inspiration of a good leader ahead and—unfailing justice behind."

Every chapter of Heney's life begins and ends with a fight, and the "dude" teacher's term in Silver City ended in "trouble." But not with the boys. It was a man's fight with a man, and it grew out of the dissipations of a mining town; for Heney did not stop drinking and gambling and fighting, as he had hoped, in his new environment. On the contrary, he drank deeper, played higher, and toward the end of his stay there Silver City was keenly aware that two men were going around with their guns loaded for each other. One of them, Heney, had made up his mind, however, that he wouldn't draw unless attacked, and the other man did not attack. The situation did not trouble the men, but it wasn't good for the school, so Heney went to mining.

He mined first at Silver City. Then he caught the Wood River excitement, and when that "busted," worked in a mill at Bonanza. At the end of the season he went in for the winter to Chalice, and was left in charge of the law office there of an attorney who had been elected to the legislature. And thus it happened that, before he was admitted to practice, or had even studied law, he tried his first case.

It was a murder case. Three "tin horn" gamblers had a row with a fourth, who was killed. Since the only lawyer left in town was prosecuting attorney, the defense had to retain "the boy," Heney. Court met by day in the back room of the leading saloon, where at night the town gambled. The judge sat at the faro table, feeling ran high, but all went well till it came to the argument. Heney's nerve failed him. He was only twenty years old and he declared that he couldn't make a speech. But his clients—the whole sporting population—insisted on having "everything that belonged to a trial," so they took the boy up to the bar and "threw drinks into him" till he was in a mood for anything. And so he began his argument. As he proceeded, the prosecuting attorney interjected some abusive remarks. Heney paused, looking to the judge to protect him. But the judge was silent. The room was packed and the crowd moved uneasily, but Heney proceeded till again the prosecuting attorney interrupted, and this time he used "fighting language." Heney picked up his chair, and swinging it over his head, he exclaimed:

"If the court won't protect me, I will protect myself."

And yet, with his chair raised above his head, and all afire himself with just wrath, he paused to reflect. He meant to crush and kill the man before him and the crowd, maddened by the scene, called to him to do it. And Heney knew that if he brought down his chair on that drunken lawyer's head, everybody would go to shooting, and many men would be killed, including, for a certainty, the judge. In a flash he saw how he could win his case and avoid bloodshed. He dropped the chair behind him and putting out his hands, said to the prosecuting attorney:

"Your old gray hairs protect you."

Heney always laughs outright when he recalls this speech. "It made the old fellow wild with rage," he says, and, of course, it was more maddening than any epithets. The old fellow rose to his feet and bending his head over to Heney, ran his hands through his hair, panting:

"Just you consider every one of these old gray hairs as blacker than the blackest abyss of old black hell."

It was no use. The judge interfered with a fine of ten dollars each, and when the crowd paid Heney's on the spot, the prosecuting attorney was so enraged that he resigned. Court adjourned and the boy lawyer, lifted on the shoulders of the crowd, was carried forth into the street where a mass-meeting was held, presided over by an ex-clergyman on a beer barrel. The citizens adopted resolutions praising Heney, denouncing the prosecuting attorney, and calling on the judge to resign. The judge did not resign, but that night he discharged the prisoners on the murder count and