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diff --git a/9193.txt b/9193.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e82adea --- /dev/null +++ b/9193.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1012 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Angel of Lonesome Hill, by Frederick Landis + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Angel of Lonesome Hill + +Author: Frederick Landis + +Posting Date: September 23, 2012 [EBook #9193] +Release Date: October, 2005 +First Posted: September 14, 2005 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OF LONESOME HILL *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emily Compton and Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + +THE ANGEL OF LONESOME HILL +A STORY OF A PRESIDENT + +by Frederick Landis +Author of "The Glory of His Country" + +1910 + +[Illustration: Those who passed by night were grateful for the lamp] + + +It was a handful of people in the country--a simple-hearted handful. +There was no railroad--only a stage which creaked through +the gullies and was late. Once it had a hot-box, and the place drifted +through space, a vagrant atom. + +Time swung on a lazy hinge. Children came; young folks married; +old ones died; Indian Creek overflowed the bottom-land; crops failed; +one by one the stage bore boys and girls away to seek their fortunes in +the far-off world; at long intervals some tragedy streaked the yellow +clay monotony with red; January blew petals from her silver garden; +April poured her vase of life; August crawled her snail length; years +passed, leaving rusty streaks back to a dull horizon. + +The sky seemed higher than anywhere else; clouds hurried over this +place called "Cold Friday." + +A mile to the east was "Lonesome Hill." Indians once built signal +fires upon it, and in this later time travellers alighted as their horses +struggled up the steep approach. At the top was a cabin; it was +whitewashed, and so were the apple-trees round it. A gourd vine clung +to its chimney; pigeons fluttered upon its shingles, and June flung a +crimson rose mantle over its side and half-way up the roof. + +One wished to stop and rest beneath its weeping willow by the +white stone milk house. + +Those who passed by day were accustomed to a woman's face at the +window--a calm face which looked on life as evening looks on day--such +a face as one might use to decorate a fancy of the old frontier. Those +who passed by night were grateful for the lamp which protested against +Nature's apparent consecration of the place to solitude. + +This home held aloof from "Cold Friday"; many times Curiosity went +in, but Conjecture alone came out, for through the years the man and +woman of this cabin merely said, "We came from back yonder." Nobody +knew where "yonder" was. + +But the law of compensation was in force--even in "Cold Friday." +With acquaintanceships as with books, the ecstasy of cutting leaves +is not always sustained in the reading, and the silence of this man and +woman was the life of village wonder. + +It gave "Friday's" chimney talk a spice it otherwise had never known; +the back log seldom crumbled into ashes till the bones of these cabin +dwellers lay bleaching on the plains of "Perhaps." + +John Dale was seventy-five years or more, but worked his niggard hillside +all the day, and seldom came to town. His aged wife was kind; the +flowers of her life she gave away, but none could glance upon the garden. +She seemed to know when neighbors were ill; hers was the dignity of being +indispensable. Many the mother of that region who, standing beneath +some cloud, thanked God as this slender, white-haired soul with star +shine in her face, hurried over the fields with an old volume pasted full +of quaint remedies. + +She made a call of another kind--just once--when the "Hitchenses" +brought the first organ to "Cold Friday." + +She remained only long enough to go straight to the cabinet, which the +assembled neighbors regarded with distant awe, and play several pieces +"without the book." On her leaving with the same quiet indifference, Mrs. +Ephraim Fivecoats peered owlishly toward Mrs. Rome Lukens and rendered +the following upon her favorite instrument: + +"Well! if that woman ever gits the fever an' gits deliriums, I want +to be round, handy like. I'll swan there'll be more interestin' things +told than we've heerd in our born days--that woman is allus thinkin'!" + +In this final respect, the judgment of the Lady of the House of Fivecoats +was sound. + +How gallant the mind is! If the past be sad, it mingles with Diversion's +multitude till Sadness is lost; if the present be unhappy, it has a +magic thrift of joys, and Unhappiness is hushed by Memory's laughter; +if both past and present have a grief, it seeks amid its scanty store for +some event, for instance, whose recurrence brings some brightness; to +greet this it sends affectionate anticipations--and were its quiver empty, +it would battle still some way! + +So the wife of Dale looked forward to Doctor Johnston's visits, yet +there were so many doors between her silence and the world, she did +not turn as he entered one eventful day. + +Doctors are Nature's confessors, and down the memory of this one +wandered a camel of sympathy upon which the sick had heaped their secret +woes for years, though one added naught to the burden. + +It was the tale he wished to hear, and when some fugitive phrase promised +revelation, he folded the powders slowly; but when it ended in a sigh, +he strapped up bottles and expectations and went away, reflecting how +poor the world where one might hear all things save those which interested. + +But Time is a patient locksmith to whom all doors swing open. + +"I always sit by this window," she began as he removed the fever +thermometer; "I've looked so long, I see nothing in a way--and at night +I always put the light here. If he should come in the dark I want him +to see--here is a letter." + +The Doctor read and returned it with a look of infinite pity. + +"I had a dream last night; I may be superstitious or it may be the +fever--but it was so real. I saw it all; it was just like my prayer. I +believe in God, you know." She smiled in half reproach. "Yes, in spite +of all. + +"In that dream something touched my hand and a voice whispered the +word, 'Now.' Oh, how anxious it was! I awoke, sitting up; the lamp +had gone out, yet it was not empty--and there was no wind." + +John Dale stumbled into the room, his arms full of wood, and an old dog, +lying before the fireplace, thumped his tail against the floor with +diminishing vigor. + +She arose. "I'll get you a bite to eat, Doctor." + +"Never mind! I must be going." He made a sign to Dale, who followed +to the gate. + +"John, I've been calling here a long time--" + +"I know I ought to pay somethin'," Dale started to say. + +"It isn't that--I've just diagnosed the case; only one man can cure it." + +"Would he--on credit?" Dale anxiously inquired. + +"He never charges." Johnston smiled sorrowfully at the old man's +despair. + +"Who is he?" + +"The President; the President of the United States," he added as +Dale's eyes filled with questions. "I came out of college a sceptic, +John, and I'd be an infidel outright but for that wife of yours--she's +nearer the sky, somehow, than any other mortal I've seen. I don't +believe in anything, of course--but that dream--if I were you I'd trust +it--I'd follow where it led." + +With his foot on the hub, the farmer slowly whetted his knife on +his boot. "I'll go with you, Doctor." + + * * * * * + +"I called at the office, but it was locked, and so I'm here," apologized +Dale as Judge Long opened the door of his old-fashioned stone house in +Point Elizabeth, the county seat. + +"Glad to see you--had your supper?" + +Hearing voices in the dining-room, he answered in the affirmative. + +"Then have a cigar and wait in the library; the folks are having a +little company." + +The old man surveyed the room; the books alone were worth more than +his earthly possessions. From a desk loomed a bust of Webster. Shadows +seemed to leap from it; the sombre lips bespoke the futility of striving +against stern realities. + +There was gayety in the dining-room; Judge Long was a fountain of +mirth, a favorite at taverns, while riding the circuit--before +juries--wherever people gathered. + +A gale of laughter greeted his last anecdote and the diners protested as +he arose. + +Dale told his story excitedly, and at the conclusion Judge Long slowly +brushed away the tobacco smoke. + +"I'm sorry, John, but we did all we could last month--and we failed; +there's just one thing to do--face the matter. It's hard, but this world is +chiefly water, and what isn't water is largely rock--it's for fish and +fossils, I suppose." + +"But we will win now!" The old man's hand fell with decision. + +"Why do you say that?" + +"Mother had another dream last night." + +"But, you know, she had one a month ago," quietly protested Long. + +"Yes--and it came true--we didn't do our part just right. We can't +fail this time; there must be a day of justice!" + +"Well, as to that, John, this game of life is strange; we bring nothing +with us, so how can we lose? We take nothing away, so how can we +win? We think; we plan; we stack these plans with precision, but Chance +always sits at our right, waiting to cut the cards. You speak of 'justice.' +It's a myth. The statue above the court-house stands first on one foot, +then on the other, tired of waiting, tired of the sharp rocks of +technicality, tired of the pompous farce. Why, Dale," he waved a hand +toward an opposite corner, "if old Daniel Webster were here he couldn't +do anything!" + +When an American lawyer cites that mighty shade it is conclusive, but +the effect was lost on Dale. He was not a lawyer, neither had he read the +"Dartmouth College Case" nor the "Reply to Hayne." In fact his relations +with the "Sage of Marshfield" were so formal he believed his fame +to rest chiefly on having left behind a multitude of busts. Besides, he was +impatient; the Judge's peroration having lifted his head so suddenly +that cigar ashes fell upon the deep rug at his feet. + +"You won't go again, Judge?" He leaned forward perplexed. + +"It's no use." + +"Well, mebbe you can't do anything--mebbe Dan'l Webster couldn't--but +John Dale can!" + +Long arose, astonished. "How foolish! Reason for a moment--any +presentation of this matter calls for the highest ability; it involves +sifting of evidence; symmetry of arrangement; cohesiveness of method, logic +of argument, persuasiveness of advocacy, subtleties of acumen, charms +of eloquence--all the elements of the greatest profession among men!" + +Dale leaned heavily against the table, his eyes following the Judge as he +walked back and forth. + +"Well, I've got 'em--I can't call 'em by name, but I've got the whole +damned list--and I'm goin'!" + +Long stood at bay, his hand on the door, his face glowing with animation. + +"Dale, you're old enough to be my father, but you shall listen. You'd +fail before a justice of the peace, and before the President of the United +States--it's absurd. You'd go down there, get mad, probably be arrested +and kill any hope we might have; why, you're guilty of contempt of +court right now. I had a strong influence, yet I failed." + +The old farmer of "Lonesome Hill" would listen no more. + +"Then wait, John. This letter may at least save you from jail--and you +haven't any money; will this do?" + +"It's more than I need, Judge." + +"No, keep it all--and keep your temper too." + +As the Judge stood in the doorway, watching the venerable figure disappear +in the drizzling night, a young woman from the dining-room stole +to his side and heard him muse: "After all, who knows? A Briton +clad in skins once humbled a Roman emperor." + +"Is he in trouble?" she asked. + +"Yes, great trouble, and it isn't his fault. Fate's a poor shot. She never +strikes one who is guilty without wounding two who are innocent." + + * * * * * + +Dale was an admirable volunteer and strangely resourceful; he had +something more than courage. + +The train did not leave for two hours. He sat in the station till the +clatter of the telegraph drove him out, when he walked toward the +yards with their colored lights, and through his brain raced Speculation's +myriad fiends, all brandishing lanterns like those before him. When, +at last, the train did start, it seemed to roll slowly, though it could +suffer delay and reach the Capital by daybreak. + +He read the letter of introduction several times, and wondered what +kind of man the President was; he thought of what he would say--and +how it would end. + +At intervals a ghost would extend a long, bony hand and wring drops +of blood from his heart; at such times the President was hostile--the trip +very foolish--he regretted his anger at Judge Long's house; and once, +had the engine been a horse, he might have turned back. At other times +gleams of victory came from somewhere and yet from nowhere, and +routed the gypsies from his brain, and the President stood before him, +a sympathetic gentleman. Once he knew it, and through excess of spirits +walked up and down the aisle, studying the sleeping passengers; for John +Dale travelled in a common "day coach." + +At last he yielded to fatigue, and far off on the horizon of consciousness +dimly flashed the duel of his hopes and fears. Rest was impossible, and +after a long time the dawn drifted between his half-closed lids; a glorious +dome floated out of the sky and the porter shouted, "All out for +Washington!" + +The cabmen who besieged the well-dressed passengers paid scant homage +to the old man, who walked uncertainly out of the smoky shed and stood +for a moment in Pennsylvania Avenue--on one hand the Capitol, on +the other the Treasury and White House. A great clock above him +struck the hour of six; he hesitated, then went toward the scene of +conflict. + +The waking traffic, the great buildings, the pulse of this strange life +filled him with depression. He came to a beautiful park and gazed upon +Lafayette and Rochambeau, then the equestrian statue of Jackson. As he +sat facing the snow-white building with columned portico, the magnolia +blossoms were as incense. Then he could wait no longer and crossed to +the President's office. A policeman stopped him at the steps. He explained +that he had a letter from Judge Long. What! Did this policeman +not know Judge Long? + +He sat under a tree, and the policeman walked a few paces away to turn +anon and survey the waiting pilgrim. When the doors opened he entered. +The President would not come for another hour; he would be busy--possibly +he might see him by noon--provided he had credentials. + +With a sigh he sank into a chair and was soon asleep. + +"Come--this is no cheap lodging house!" The greeting was shaken +into him by a clerk with hair parted in the middle, who disdainfully +surveyed the sleeper's attire. + +He who has much on his mind little cares what he has on his back, and +when the youth exploded, "Who are you?" the old fellow's self-reliance +came forth. + +Leading the way to the door Dale pointed a trembling finger. "See +that buildin', 'Bub'--and that one yonder, and that patch over there +with Andy Jackson in it? Well, I'm one of the folks that made it all--and +paid for it; and you're one of my hired hands. I've got to keep +so many of you down here I can't afford one on the farm. I want to +see the President--give him this letter--it's from Judge Sylvester Long, +of Point Elizabeth!" + +The youth vanished and Dale resumed his chair. + +He was looking across the lawn when a sudden alertness came into +the scene; the silk-hatted line of callers stepped aside; those who were +seated arose; newspaper correspondents turned with vigilant ears. A +nervous voice inquired, "Where is Mr. John Dale?" + +The President stood before him, dressed in white flannel, then smilingly +grasped his hand with a blast of welcome: "I'm delighted to meet +the friend of Judge Long!" Taking his arm the Executive escorted him +through the Cabinet Room thronged with Senators, Representatives, and +tourists. They entered the private office. "Take the sofa, Mr. Dale--it's +the easiest thing in the place. I hope your business is such that you +can excuse me for a little while." + +A smile came over Dale's white face. Could the poorest farmer of +the "Cold Friday" region wait for the most powerful character in the +world? Nor was the old man in the linen duster the only one who smiled. +A member of the Russian Embassy turned to his companion--a distinguished +visitor from the Court of St. Petersburg: "What would a peasant +say to the Czar?" + +The President now entered the Cabinet Room, shaking hands with +the many, guiding a few into his private office. Dale listened; now it was +an introduction and a message to an old friend in the West. Then a decisive +"No" dashed some hope of patronage; again, it was a discussion +of poetry, aerial navigation, or the relics of the Aztecs. It was a long +stride from "Lonesome Hill," and for the time Dale was novelty's captive. +He glanced round the room. It was not as fine as the director's +office of the Point Elizabeth Bank! Above the mantel--the place of +honor--was the painting of a martyr. He wondered whether another stroke +of the brush would have brought a smile to the face, or an expression of +sadness. The hands were very large--they had once broken iron bands. + +In one corner was a shot-gun; tennis rackets in another; on a chair +were snow-shoes and on the desk a sheaf of roses. + +Those whom the President had sifted into his office from the crowd +outside engaged in conversation. A Senator discussed the ball game with +a Supreme Court Justice; a General advised an Author to try deep breathing. + +The President returned more animated than before. He placed a +hand on Dale's shoulder: "Be comfortable--and stay for lunch; nobody +but us." + +The crowd paid sudden respect to the homespun citizen of an older day, +and a great happiness came into his heart--it was like the unfolding of one +of the roses. Not that he was to lunch with the President, though Dale's +was the village estimate of human greatness. A vaster issue was before +him, and this was a token of success--a success which would bind up his +remaining years with peace, and give glorious recompense to the companion +of his few joys and many griefs. + +The President hurriedly signed his name to parchments. + +"I'm making a few postmasters." He smiled toward the sofa. "It's no +trouble here--that's all at the other end of the line." + +Without stopping the pen, he discussed matters with one statesman +after another, his lips snapping with metallic positiveness. + +A member of the Senate Committee on Foreign Relations protested +against the course pursued in Santo Domingo. + +"If I were making a world, Senator, I'd try to get along without putting +in any Santo Domingos, but as things stand, we must make her be +decent or let somebody else do it." + +Another brings up the question of taxing incomes and inheritances. + +"I favor them both," declared the President. "They are taxes on good +luck; bad luck is its own tax." + +A statesman from the Pacific slope protests against Federal interference +in the school question. + +"It is a local matter as you say, Senator, and yours is a 'Sovereign +State'--they all are till they get into trouble. If we should have war with +Japan, your State would speedily become an integral part of the Union." + +A group of gentlemen now object to an aspirant for a Federal judgeship +on the ground that he has not a "judicial temperament." + +"As I understand it," the President begins, "judicial temperament is +largely a fragrance rising from the recollection of corporate employment; +it is the ability to throw a comma under the wheels of progress and upset +public welfare; I am glad to learn that Mr. L---- has _not_ a 'judicial +temperament'; I shall send his name to the Senate to-day." + +The gentlemen retired. "Come, Mr. Dale, let us go." + +This President had been accused of a lack of dignity. Is it a less valuable +trait which puts the John Dales of our land at instant ease in the +"State Dining-Room" of the White House? + +"Well, sir, no man ever had a better friend than Judge Long," said +the President when they were seated. "'Ves' Long, I mean," he added +with a smile. + +"I met him in the West; he had a ranch; mine was near it. We saw +much of each other; we hunted together--and that's where you learn +a man's mettle. He never complained of dogs, luck, or weather. +We saw rough times; it was glorious. We'd wake up with snow on the bed, +and when 'Ves' introduced me at Point Elizabeth in my first campaign +he said we often found rabbit tracks on the quilts--but then 'Ves' had a +remarkable eye. + +"Some say, 'blood is thicker than water.' That depends somewhat on +the quality of the water; I like him; there's nothing I wouldn't do +for him!" + +Dale grew suddenly sick at heart. If Long had only come! Recalling +his discouraging words, a shadow crept over the old man's mind. +Could it be possible he had not tried the month before? + +Such misgivings soon vanished. "This is a trying office, Mr. Dale. +With all my feelings I had to hold in abeyance the only favor he ever +asked; it was about a pardon in a murder case over thirty-five years +ago. He said it was the most cruel case of circumstantial evidence in +the books--possibly you may know about the case." + +The old man struggled back in his chair, then arose, his rough hand +brushing thin locks back from a temple where the veins seemed swelling +to the danger point. He was unable to summon more than a whisper +from his shrunken throat. + +"Yes, Mr. President, I do--he's my boy!" + +"Your--boy! Yes--that's the name--how stupid of me--I beg +your pardon, Mr. Dale--a thousand times." + +They stared a long while at each other and Dale felt the fears which +had fled before his gracious reception returning to grip him by the heart; +the speech he had prepared had fled; it had all happened so differently. + +At last the President spoke: "Congress is just going out; it's the busy +season, but I'll go through the papers to-night myself." + +Dale walked to the window; perspiration was on his face, but he was +very cold. He stood with locked brain, and into his eyes came filmy +clouds; then through these he saw, with sudden strangeness, a cabin far +away, and a woman with pallid cheeks looked straight at him. + +The President gazed intently as the old man wiped the window pane, +nodded his head, and turned to face the table. + +He cleared his throat, then opened a flannel collar, already loose, and +his eyes glistened. + +"You're sick!" exclaimed the President rising. "Waiter--some +brandy!" + +"No--just a little dizzy. + +"Mr. President," he slowly began, "this is a case that all the papers in +the world can't tell--nor all the men--there's none just like it. + +"It's not for the boy--it's not for me. I took her from her folks against +their will, and I've not panned out lucky--but that's not to the point. +She's sick; the doctor can't help her--nobody can but you--I wish you +might have seen her from the window yonder." + +The half-finished luncheon was disregarded; the President had sunk +into his chair, and the keen discrimination of a king of affairs was +struggling with a strange fascination. + +"Long ago, Mr. President, I had an enemy--Bill Hartsell--we shot +each other." He held up a withered hand. "It's been a feud ever since. +His boy and mine went to war in the same company--both as brave as ever +wore the blue. When they were waitin' to be mustered out Bill's boy was +murdered in his tent--in his sleep. Bill was there and swore he saw my +Richard do it. + +"One night, a month ago, my woman--she's a great woman, Mr. +President--the sick folks down in my country call her 'The Angel of +Lonesome Hill'--well, she had a dream that Bill Hartsell wanted to see +me. I hadn't laid eyes on him for years. I strapped on my six-shooter +and she said, 'No--it isn't that kind of a trip--it's peace.' + +"I put down the shootin' iron and went--it was a long way--two +days on horseback. I got to Bill's cabin at night; I went in without +a knock; I wasn't afraid. Bill's folks were round the bed. He +arose and cried out: 'John, I sent for you; it was a damn lie I told--your +boy didn't do it'--and then Bill died." + +For the moment the old man's agitation mastered him. + +"I remember, Mr. Dale. 'Ves' told me; he brought the statements +of the family--and yours. I've been thinking of it ever since--and a great +deal these last two days. Tell me, why did you happen to come?" + +"Mother had a dream that said the time was up." + +Dale spoke as calmly as though delivering a message from a neighbor. + +Fear was not even a memory now. He stood erect; the stone he had +slowly pushed up many steep years was near the summit--one mighty +effort might hurl it down the past forever. + +"Just a word about that boy, Mr. President. At Cold Harbor his regiment +stood in hell all day; he was one of those who pinned his name to his +coat so his body could be identified--after the charge. Well, in that +charge the flag went down, and a man went out to get it--and he fell; then +another--and he fell; and then a thin, pale fellow that the doctors almost +refused sprang forward like a panther--and he fell. They were askin' for a +volunteer when a staff officer called out: 'Good God! He's alive! He's got +it! He's crawlin' back!' + +"They had to lift him off the colors; he didn't know anything, . . . and +that was my boy, Mr. President--that was Dick! + +"Funny how he enlisted," Dale resumed after a moment. "He'd been +tryin' to get in, but I kept him out. One night his mother sent him for a +dime's worth of clothes-line--and he never came back. He's not bad, Mr. +President; he's good--he gets it from his mother." + +Dale lifted his head with pride: "When I was on the jury I heard +Judge Long say no one could be punished if their name wasn't written in +the indictment. Now, they didn't only convict Dick--they convicted +his mother--this whole world's her prison--and it's illegal, Mr. +President--her name wasn't written in that indictment--and it's her pardon +I want." + +The President arose and walked the floor. "How could the man who +saved those colors shoot a comrade in his sleep? Mr. Dale, my faith in +human nature tells me that's a lie!" + +He stood for an instant at the window, looking over the fountain, the +river, the tall white Washington needle which pierced the sky, then +quickly stepped to the table and lifted a glass: + +"Mr. Dale, I propose a toast--'The Angel of Lonesome Hill' . . . her +liberty!" + + * * * * * + +As they returned to the office there was nothing extraordinary in the +President's vigorous step--that was known the world around. There +was something most unusual, however, in the radiant soul--the splendid +ancient youth of the quaint figure by his side. + +At the door where the policeman had watched the waiting pilgrim the +President shook the old man's hand. + +"Come again, Mr. Dale, and tell 'Ves' Long I'll go hunting with him +this fall and bring along a man he'll like--a man who catches wolves with +his hands." + + * * * * * + +John Dale knew every fence corner in that region, but the night was so +dark he stopped at times to "feel where he was." + +The man with him could not aid him; he was a stranger--a strange +stranger who spoke but once--"How far is it?" + +Long habit had made him silent; he was in the upper fifties, but long +absence from the sun had pinched his face into the white mask of great +age. + +At the village store the stranger entered, returning with a package. + +When the road turned there was a light high ahead and a moment later +the two men entered the cabin. + +The stranger paused. "Mother, you sent me for a clothes-line--I've +been delayed--but here it is." + +Her hand trembled as she raised the lamp from the table. + +"My boy--my dream--the President!" + + * * * * * + +When she lifted her face it was glorified. + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Angel of Lonesome Hill, by Frederick Landis + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ANGEL OF LONESOME HILL *** + +***** This file should be named 9193.txt or 9193.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/1/9/9193/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Emily Compton and Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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