emained silent. He was the jailer. The question, simple
as it was, proved an unlucky one, for the ire of Uncle Billy arose at
once. He began to thump the earth with his staff and comb his whiskers
with his fingers.

"Ain't I late this mornin'?" he demanded, instead of making direct reply
to the question. "Oughtn't I 'a' been here a half-n-hour ago?"

He glared from one to the other as though daring them to refute it. Each
person present maintained a discreet silence, though one or two nodded
acquiescence.

"Late! Late to town!" he stormed. "And what for? That pesky Lizy Ann
Scribbens had the owdacity to come to my _front_ door this very
mornin'--a beggin'. My _front_ door! An' her just been cooped up with
that diseased rat of a husban', Dink, an' small-pox microbes a-crawlin'
all over her! Didn't I pack her off? I swear, gentlemen, I got my
shotgun before she would leave! Paupers oughter live in the poorhouse
an' not purten' to be decent. Dink won't admit he's a pauper, but he
lives by stealin', what's worse. That's why I'm late, an' if I don't
ketch it I don't know why!"

The paper rustled against the wall.

"I should think, Mr. Hoonover, that you should apprehend no danger of
contagion, as you had no personal contact with your caller. Of course
that is a layman's view only, but I would not give it another thought."

A pistol shot, startlingly near and distinct, punctuated the carefully
uttered speech of Colonel Whitley. The group leaped up as one man--save
the one who had last spoken. Colonel Whitley was in a comfortable
position, and his paper was only half read. The shot sounded from Main
street, and Judge Colver, as fearless as he was big, started in a
lumbering trot across the yard to ascertain the cause of the
disturbance. But almost immediately three men appeared around the corner
of the courthouse. One was a deputy sheriff, another was a blacksmith,
and between them, struggling violently to free himself, was a low,
poorly dressed, unkempt person.

"What's up? What's Hank done?" queried the judge.

"Shot Dick Goodloe!" answered the deputy, quickly, he and the smith
hurrying their man forward as rapidly as possible. On the other side of
the yard was a little gate, and it was for this they were heading, it
being the nearest approach to the jail. "Keep back the crowd, Joe, till
we get Hank in!" called the deputy, and they pushed on.

The crowd as yet, however, was entirely harmless, and was centered
abou