ate hospitality in the very home of tragedy. As the
moments slipped by his sense of displeasure increased, with mankind
in general, with himself, and with the judge--principally with the
judge--who was to make a foolish target of himself in the morning. He
was going to give the man who had wrecked his life a chance to take
it as well. Mahaffy's cold logic dealt cynically with the preposterous
situation his friend had created.

In the midst of his angry meditations he heard a clock strike in the
hall and counted the strokes. It was nine o'clock. Surely Yancy and
Cavendish had been gone their hour! He quitted his seat and strolled
restlessly about the house. He felt deeply indignant with everybody and
everything. Human intelligence seemed but a pitiable advance on brute
instinct. A whole day had passed and what had been accomplished?
Carrington, the judge, Yancy, Cavendish--the four men who might have
worked together to some purpose had widely separated themselves; and
here was the duel, the very climax of absurdity. He resumed his dark
corner and waited another hour. Still no Carrington, and Yancy and
Cavendish had not come up from the raft.

"Fools!" thought Mahaffy bitterly. "All of them fools!"

At last he decided to go back to the judge; and a moment later was
hurrying down the lane in the direction of the highroad, but, jaded
as he was by the effort he had already put forth that day, the walk
to Raleigh made tremendous demands on him, and it was midnight when he
entered the little town.

It can not be said that he was altogether surprised when he found
their cottage dark and apparently deserted. He had half expected
this. Entering, and not stopping to secure a candle, he groped his way
up-stairs to the room on the second floor which he and the judge shared.

"Price!" he called, but this gained him no response, and he cursed
softly under his breath.

He hastily descended to the kitchen, lighted a candle, and stepped into
the adjoining room. On the table was a neat pile of papers, and
topping the pile was the president's letter. Being burdened by no
false scruples, and thinking it might afford some clue to the judge's
whereabouts, Mahaffy took it up and read it. Having mastered its
contents he instantly glanced in the direction of the City Tavern, but
it was wrapped in darkness.

"Price is drunk somewhere," was his definite conclusion. "But he'll be
at Boggs' the first thing in the morning--most likely so far