slouched Tall Tom with his
rifle and Dolph and Rube, each with a huge old-fashioned horse-pistol
swinging from his right hip. Last strode the school-master. The cabin
was left deserted--the hospitable door held closed by a deer-skin latch
caught to a wooden pin outside.

It was a strange humiliation to Jack thus to be led along the highway,
like a criminal going to the gallows. There was no power on earth that
could have moved him from Chad's side, other than the boy's own
command--but old Joel had sworn that he would keep the dog tied and the
old hunter always kept his word. He had sworn, too, that Jack should
have a fair trial. Therefore, the guns--and the school-master walked
with his hands behind him and his eyes on the ground: he feared trouble.

Half a mile up the river and to one side of the road, a space of some
thirty feet square had been cut into a patch of rhododendron and filled
with rude benches of slabs--in front of which was a rough platform on
which sat a home-made, cane-bottomed chair. Except for the opening from
the road, the space was walled with a circle of living green through
which the sun dappled the benches with quivering disks of yellow
light--and, high above, great poplars and oaks arched their mighty
heads. It was an open-air "meeting-house" where the circuit-rider
preached during his summer circuit and there the trial was to take
place.

Already a crowd was idling, whittling, gossiping in the road, when the
Turner cavalcade came in sight--and for ten miles up and down the river
people were coming in for the trial.

"Mornin', gentlemen," said old Joel, gravely.

"Mornin'," answered several, among whom was the Squire, who eyed Joel's
gun and the guns coming up the road.

"Squirrel-huntin'?" he asked and, as the old hunter did not answer, he
added, sharply:

"Air you afeerd, Joel Turner, that you ain't a-goin' to git justice
from ME?"

"I don't keer whar it comes from," said Joel, grimly--"but I'm a-goin'
to HAVE it."

It was plain that the old man not only was making no plea for sympathy,
but was alienating the little he had: and what he had was very little,
for who but a lover of dogs can give full sympathy to his kind? And,
then, Jack was believed to be guilty. It was curious to see how each
Dillon shrank unconsciously as the Turners gathered--all but Jerry, one
of the giant twins. He always stood his ground--fearing nor man, nor
dog--nor devil.

Ten minutes later, the Squire to