the Co't House?" she inquired with languid
interest, looking across the open square.

"They's a political speakin'," explained the other. "Creed Bonbright he
wants to be elected jestice of the peace and go back to the Turkey Tracks
and set up a office. Fool boy! You know mighty well an' good they'll run
him out o' thar--or kill him, one."

Although the girl had herself ridden down from Turkey Track Mountain that
morning, and the old Bonbright farm adjoined her own, the news held no
interest for her. She wished the gathering might have been something more
to her purpose; but she solemnly paid for the hat, and with the cheap
finery on her stately young head, which had been more appropriately
crowned with a chaplet of vine leaves, moved to the door. She hoped that
standing there, waiting for the boys to bring her horse, she might
attract some attention by her recently acquired splendour.

She looked up at the Court House steps. The building was humbly in the
Greek manner, as are so many of the public structures in the South.
Between its great white pillars, flaking paint and half-heartedly
confessing their woodland genesis, stood a tall young man, bareheaded.
The doubtful sunlight of a March day glinted on his uncovered yellow
hair. He was speaking rapidly in a fervid fashion that seemed beyond the
occasion; in his blue eyes shone something of the fanatic's passion; his
bearing was that of a man who conceives himself to have a mission and a
message.

Judith looked at him. She heard no word of what he was saying--but him
she heard. She heard the high, vibrant voice, saw the fair hair on the
upflung head, the rapt look in the blue eyes with their quick-expanding
pupils. Suddenly her world turned over. In a smother of strange,
uncomprehended emotions, she was gropingly glad she had the new hat--glad
she had it on now, and that Mrs. Staggart herself had adjusted it. On
blind impulse she edged around into plainer view, pushing freely in
amongst the fringe of men and boys, an unheard-of thing for a well taught
mountain girl to do, but Judith was for the moment absolutely unconscious
of their humanity.

"You never go a-nigh my people," cried Bonbright in that clear thrilling
tenor that is like a trumpet call, "you never go a-nigh them with the
statute--with government--except when the United States marshal takes a
posse up and raids the stills and brings down his prisoners. That's all
the valley knows of the mountain folks.