himself was obliged to buckle on a revolver every
time he put his head out of doors, he had more trouble with his own
deputies than with the moonshiners. "As a rule, none but desperadoes
could be hired for the service," he declared. "For example, one time my
deputy in your county wanted some liquor for himself. He and two of his
cronies crossed the line into South Carolina, raided a still, and got
beastly drunk. The blockaders bushwhacked them, riddled a mule and its
rider with buckshot, and shot my deputy through the brain with a
squirrel rifle. We went over there and buried the victims a few days
later, during a snow storm, working with our holster flaps unbuttoned. I
had all that work and worry simply because that rascal was bent on
getting drunk without paying for it. However, it cost him his life.

"They were not all like that, though," continued the Judge. "Now and
then there would turn up in the service a man who had entered it from
honorable motives, and whose conduct, at all times, was chivalric and
clean. There was Hersh Harkins, for example, now United States Collector
at Asheville. I had many cases in which Harkins figured."

"Tell me of one," I urged.

"Well, one time there was a man named Jenks [that was not the real name,
but it will serve], who was too rich to be suspected of blockading.
Jenks had a license to make brandy, but not whiskey. One day Harkins was
visiting his still-house, and he noticed something dubious. Thrusting
his arm down through the peach pomace, he found mash underneath. It is a
penitentiary offense to mix the two. Harkins procured more evidence
from Jenk's distiller, and hauled the offender before me. The trial was
conducted in a hotel room, full of people. We were not very formal in
those days--kept our hats on. There was no thought of Jenks trying to
run away, for he was well-to-do; so he was given the freedom of the
room. He paced nervously back and forth between my desk and the door,
growing more restless as the trial proceeded. A clerk sat near me,
writing a bond, and Harkins stood behind him dictating its terms.
Suddenly Jenks wheeled around, near the door, jerked out a navy
revolver, fired and bolted. It is hard to say whom he shot at, for the
bullet went through Harkins's coat, through the clerk's hat, and through
my hat, too. I ducked under the desk to get my revolver, and Harkins,
thinking that I was killed, sprang to pick me up; but I came up firing.
It was wonderful h