ain street of the village a man was
running, followed by another, who, three times in their sight and
hearing, fired at the one in advance. One, two, three times they saw and
heard him fire, and the sickening feeling of seeing a man murdered in
plain sight came over them. Royce rushed down to the street. The victim
had fallen; the other man was himself staggering, and in the hands of a
crowd which had gathered in an instant. After a short delay the two men
were borne away, one to his home, one to the jail. Royce returned hot
and breathless.

"Oh, how is the poor man who was shot?" exclaimed Mrs. Eliot.

"Poor man, indeed! The other one is the man to be pitied," said Royce
angrily. "He is a revenue detective, and was knocked down from behind
with a club by this fellow, who is a liquor-seller here in the village.
The blow was on the skull, and a murderous one. Half blinded and
maddened, he staggered to his feet, drew his revolver, and fired for his
life."

Honor had grown white as ivory. She shook in every limb, her lips
trembled, and her chin had dropped a little. Wainwright watched her.

"But what does it all mean?" asked Adelaide.

"Moonlight whisky, of course. The detective has been hunting for the
stills, and these outlaws will kill the man as they have killed half a
dozen before him."

"What an outrage! Are there no laws?"

"Dead letters."

"Or officers to execute them?"

"Dead men."

Royce was excited and aroused. He was young, and had convictions. The
laws should not be over-ridden and men murdered in broad daylight by
these scoundrels while he was on the scene. He took charge of the
detective, who, with his bruised head, was put in jail, while the
liquor-seller was allowed to have his illness out in his own house, one
of the balls only having taken effect, and that in a safe place in the
shoulder. Royce, all on fire for the side of justice, wrote and
telegraphed for troops, using the detective's signature; he went himself
fifteen miles on horseback to send the dispatch. There were troops at
the State capital; they had been up to the mountains before on the same
business; they were, indeed, quite accustomed to going up; but they
accomplished nothing. The outlaws kept themselves carefully hidden in
their wild retreats, and the village looked on as innocently as a Quaker
settlement. A detective was fair game: two of them had been shot in the
neighborhood within the previous year, and left bleeding in th