e talk--"

Zora put up her hand and lightly touched his arm. Looking at him, she
said:

"Mud doesn't hurt much. This is my duty. Let me do it."

His eyes fell before the shadow of a deeper rebuke. He arose heavily.

"Very well," he acquiesced as he passed slowly out.

The young lawyer started to refuse to touch the case until he saw--or
did Zora adroitly make him see?--a chance for eventual political
capital. They went over the matter carefully, and the lawyer acquired a
respect for the young woman's knowledge.

"First," he said, "get an injunction on the cotton--then go to court."
And to insure the matter he slipped over and saw the Judge.

Colonel Cresswell next day stalked angrily into his lawyers' office.

"See here," he thundered, handing the lawyer the notice of the
injunction.

"See the Judge," began the lawyer, and then remembered, as he was often
forced to do these days, who was Judge.

He inquired carefully into the case and examined the papers. Then he
said:

"Colonel Cresswell, who drew this contract of sale?"

"The black girl did."

"Impossible!"

"She certainly did--wrote it in my presence."

"Well, it's mighty well done."

"You mean it will stand in law?"

"It certainly will. There's but one way to break it, and that's to
allege misunderstanding on your part."

Cresswell winced. It was not pleasant to go into open court and
acknowledge himself over-reached by a Negro; but several thousand
dollars in cotton and land were at stake.

"Go ahead," he concurred.

"You can depend on Taylor, of course?" added the lawyer.

"Of course," answered Cresswell. "But why prolong the thing?"

"You see, she's got your cotton tied by injunction."

"I don't see how she did it."

"Easy enough: this Judge is the poor white you opposed in the last
primary."

Within a week the case was called, and they filed into the courtroom.
Cresswell's lawyer saw only this black woman--no other lawyer or sign of
one appeared to represent her. The place soon filled with a lazy,
tobacco-chewing throng of white men. A few blacks whispered in one
corner. The dirty stove was glowing with pine-wood and the Judge sat at
a desk.

"Where's your lawyer?" he asked sharply of Zora.

"I have none," returned Zora, rising.

There came a silence in the court. Her voice was low, and the men leaned
forward to listen. The Judge felt impelled to be over-gruff.

"Get a lawyer," he ordered.

"Your honor, my case is simple,