a paroxysm of excitement and speculation, when Sheriff Watts
ascended the platform of the musicians and, placing a heavy hand on the
shoulder of the snare drummer, said, loudly, "Mavin Newton, I arrest ye
in the name of the law."

Not a soul in that breathless crowd was there who failed to see Mattie
Strong point her finger in the face of Scattergood Baines, and to hear
her utter the one word, "_Shame!_" Nor did any fail to see her take her
place at the side of the bearded drummer, with her fingers clutching his
arm, and walk to the door of the jail under the post office with the
prisoner.

Then the word was passed about that the hearing would take place before
Justice of the Peace Bender that very evening. So great was the public
clamor that the justice agreed to hold court in the town hall instead of
in his office; and it was rumored that Johnnie Bones, Scattergood
Baines's own lawyer, had been appointed special prosecutor by the
Governor of the state.

Opinion ran against Scattergood. It was free and outspoken. Townsfolk
and visitors alike felt that Scattergood had done ill in bringing the
young man to justice--especially at such a time. He should have let
sleeping dogs lie.... And when it heard that Sheriff Watts had carried a
subpoena to Mavin Newton's father, compelling his presence as a witness
against his own son, there arose a wind of disapproval which quite swept
Scattergood from the esteem of the community.

But the town came to the hearing. In the beginning it was a
cut-and-dried affair. The facts of the crime were established with dry
precision. Then Johnnie Bones called the name of a witness, and the
audience stiffened to attention. Even Old Man Newton, sitting with bowed
head and scowling brow, lifted his eyes to the face of the young lawyer.

"Avery Sutphin," said Johnnie Bones, and the former sheriff, wearing
such a haircut as Coldriver seldom saw within its corporate limits, and
clothed in such clothing as it had never seen there, was brought through
the door by two strangers of official look. He seated himself in the
witness chair.

"You are Avery Sutphin, former sheriff of this town?"

"Yes."

"Where do you reside?"

"In the state penitentiary," said Avery, seeking to hide his face.

"Do you know Mavin Newton?"

"Yes."

"When did you last see him?"

"It was the night of June twelfth, eight year ago."

"Where?"

"In his father's barn."

"What was he doing?"

"Milkin'," said Ave