voice. Such was the man who should have gone long ago to death or
imprisonment for the orders he had issued to his assassins.

"Judge Garvin," said my companion, "my name's Weighborne. I met you once
in the court-house. You probably don't remember me."

The gigantic reprobate smiled affably.

"Sure, I remember you," he affirmed. "I mighty seldom forget a man." He
came out from his place of office behind the counter and proffered his
hand. It was not, like those of his henchmen, a calloused hand.

I had leisure to glance about the faces of the group as this colloquy
occurred. They had been stolidly silent, gazing at us with unconcealed
curiosity. When Weighborne introduced himself there was no overt display
of interest, and yet unless I was allowing my imagination to run away
with me I sensed from that moment forward that the lazy indolence of the
atmosphere was electrified. The men lounged about in unchanged attitudes
and from time to time spat on the hot stove, yet each of them was
carefully appraising us.

"I reckon you gentlemen came up to look over this here coal and timber
project?" Garvin's voice seemed to hold only a politely simulated
interest in our affairs.

Weighborne nodded.

"Do you think, Judge, as a man in good position to gauge the sentiment
of the people, that we shall have their sympathy in our efforts?"

I studied Garvin's face closely, but if there was a spark of interest in
his eyes, my eyes could not detect it. He smiled noncommittally and
shook his head.

"Well, now, as to that," he replied judicially, "I couldn't hardly say."

"We want to develop the coal and timber interests of the section,"
summarized Weighborne briefly. "It will mean railroad facilities, better
schools and fuller enforcement of the law."

Garvin nodded in a fashion of reserved approval. There was no betrayed
hint of his perfect understanding that it meant other things as well: an
end of "Garvinism," a period to his baronial powers; the imminent danger
which lurked for him in courts no longer afraid to try, and witnesses no
longer terrified into perjury.

"That sounds purty promisin'," he agreed. "It sounds purty good."

"Then why would the people not cooeperate?"

Garvin gave the question deliberate consideration.

"Well, now," he finally said, "that ain't such an easy question to
answer just right off. The people hereabouts have been livin' purty much
the same way fer nigh onto a hundred years. They're satis