ok his seat on the platform, while the
circuit-rider squatted down beside him. The crowd, men and women and
children, took the rough benches. To one side sat and stood the
Dillons, old Tad and little Tad, Daws, Nance, and others of the tribe.
Straight in front of the Squire gathered the Turners about Melissa and
Chad--and Jack as a centre--with Jack squatted on his hanches foremost
of all, facing the Squire with grave dignity and looking at none else
save, occasionally, the old hunter or his little master.

To the right stood the sheriff with his rifle, and on the outskirts
hung the school-master. Quickly the old Squire chose a jury--giving old
Joel the opportunity to object as he called each man's name. Old Joel
objected to none, for every man called, he knew, was more friendly to
him than to the Dillons: and old Tad Dillon raised no word of protest,
for he knew his case was clear. Then began the trial, and any soul that
was there would have shuddered could he have known how that trial was
to divide neighbor against neighbor, and mean death and bloodshed for
half a century after the trial itself was long forgotten.

The first witness, old Tad--long, lean, stooping, crafty--had seen the
sheep rushing wildly up the hill-side "'bout crack o' day," he said,
and had sent Daws up to see what the matter was. Daws had shouted back:

"That damned Turner dog has killed one o' our sheep. Thar he comes now.
Kill him!" And old Tad had rushed in-doors for his rifle and had taken
a shot at Jack as he leaped into the road and loped for home. Just then
a stern, thick little voice rose from behind Jack:

"Hit was a God's blessin' fer you that you didn't hit him."

The Squire glared down at the boy and old Joel said, kindly:

"Hush, Chad."

Old Dillon had then gone down to the Turners and asked them to kill the
dog, but old Joel had refused.

"Whar was Whizzer?" Chad asked, sharply.

"You can't axe that question," said the Squire. "Hit's
er-er-irrelevant."

Daws came next. When he reached the fence upon the hill-side he could
see the sheep lying still on the ground. As he was climbing over, the
Turner dog jumped the fence and Daws saw blood on his muzzle.

"How close was you to him?" asked the Squire.

"'Bout twenty feet," said Daws.

"Humph!" said old Joel.

"Whar was Whizzer?" Again the old Squire glared down at Chad.

"Don't you axe that question again, boy. Didn't I tell you hit was
irrelevant?"

"What's irrelevan