5 The Trial

Harry, his father and aunt walked slowly home, the elder two talking freely of the pleasant evening they had spent. Mr. Beauchamp was in high spirits.

Harry left them at their door, as it was necessary for him to take a flying trip to the office in order to see that all was right for the morning edition. Dick Flynn, his young assistant had promised to put the Herald to press. “Nothing ever happens on Christmas day anyway.” he said, “unless some Anarchist takes a notion to blow up a European king, and I guess I can handle that.” But Harry watched over the Herald so zealously that he must take a last look.

It was past midnight when he entered, and Mr. Flynn was leaning back luxuriously in the editorial chair. He rose at sight of his chief and announced that, as he expected, very little was happening. “No kings killed,” he said. “They all seem to be behaving themselves and so are the anarchists. The President’s keeping quiet too. Christmas dullness also prevails in our part of the country. Nothing but this little dispatch from Randolph County—says they are hot on the trail of that murderer, Ed Parker—think he’s heading in this direction—bad case that, Mr. Beauchamp—hope they’ll get him and swing him.”

“I doubt whether they will catch him” said Harry. It seemed to Mr. Flynn that his chief spoke with less earnestness and emphasis than usual, when dealing with such topics, and he looked inquiringly at him. “Soothing influence of Christmas dinner at Judge Braxton’s” he thought. “The Judge certainly does spread a royal repast and Cynthia Braxton is a pretty girl, she sure is!” Mr. Flynn sighed to think of all that he missed, and Harry, sitting down at his desk, took a flying look at the proofs.

He was at the same desk the next afternoon when Mr. Flynn wide-eyed and excited rushed in. “Great news!” he exclaimed. “The best local item that has turned up in a long time. That Randolph County murderer Ed Parker—and a desperate fellow he is too!—has come into Groveton and surrendered. Says he’s willing enough to stand trial, if they’ll only try him here! Judge Braxton appeared at the jail at the same time to defend him! Says Parker ought to be acquitted. Now, Mr. Beauchamp what do you think of that?”

Harry was silent, but Mr. Flynn, full of his story, ran on:

“Now’s our chance. Two or three of the Logsdon people have arrived here also, and I’ve got all the details from them. It makes lively reading, Parker is a desperado, if there ever was one, and you can whoop her up too with one of your strong editorials one of the lightning kind that burn.”

Harry displayed a singular lack of enthusiasm.

“We’ve got to give fair play,” he said slowly. “Make Parker’s statement as conspicuous as you do that of the Logsdons, and I don’t think I’ll write any editorial about it. We’ll wait and see what the trial may disclose.”

Mr. Flynn whistled, but he whistled low and under his breath—he had a proper respect for his chief. “Somebody has stuck a pin into our mighty campaign for law and order in Kentucky,” he said to himself. Nevertheless he wrote a long but strictly non-committal account of the surrender of Ed. Parker, which was the sensation of Groveton for several days. The Randolph County authorities appeared with a raging demand for Parker, and more Logsdons came to back it up. But Judge Braxton was firm. He claimed that Parker would not be safe for a moment in Randolph County, that the Logsdons were in control there, that he certainly would not have a fair trial, and that probably he would be lynched.

Judge Braxton was a man of great influence, his manner always carried conviction on all the circuit that he rode, and it was decided that Parker should remain in Groveton for safekeeping. It was also certain that Judge Braxton could obtain a change of venue, and that the case would probably be tried in Groveton also.

Harry was busy the next two or three days with his “Exchanges,” and often they made the blood rise to his brow. The Parker case attracted unusual attention, because it had happened in what was generally called his district, that is within the radius habitually reached by the Herald. Some of the papers accused him personally. They said that his methods had been too direct and abusive, that in a way this had been provocative. Others jeered and these were the most offensive.

Braxton came into his office a few days later. It was a terrible day outside, mixed sleet and rain, and the street was running slush. The Judge shivered. He was not very fond of cold, and rubbed his hands over Harry’s stove.

“A newspaper office is good for something after all,” he said. “It warms up things.”

“Well, that’s what its for,” said Harry. “Here Judge, let me help you off with your overcoat.”

“Haven’t time. I want you to put on yours and go with me.”

“Where?”

“Over to the jail. Ed Parker in person wants to give you his thanks.”

“You’re surely joking Judge,” said Harry in surprise.

“Not at all. I’ve shown him that editorial you wrote demanding fair play in his case, and he is grateful to you. Come and see him.”

Harry put on his overcoat, and the two went out into the slush. But it was not far to the jail, a heavy stone building on the outside of the town, and they found the jailer, Jacob Shafer, standing in the doorway.

“We want to see Ed Parker, Jake,” said Judge Braxton.

“All right Judge,” said Mr. Shafer, “I was in there a little while ago, givin’ him his dinner, an’ he was right peart an’ chipper. He’s perked up a right smart in the last few days.”

“He likes your board, Jake,” said the Judge, “and he isn’t troubled about your bill.”

Mr. Shafer chuckled deep down in his stalwart throat. He always enjoyed “Passin’ the time o’ day” with Judge Braxton.

“He does ’pear to enjoy my room an’ board,” he said. “Come down this hall, Judge, you an’ Mr. Boshong. Don’t pay any ’tention to that noise. Its jest a homesick moonshiner in there, singin’ hymns. They always do that, when they’re homesick an’ they’re mostly homesick. They get here better beds, better houses an’ a better table than they ever knowed before in their lives, but it don’t make no difference; they’re jest dyin’ to be roamin’ their mountains, pluggin’ each other with lead, an’ bein’ plugged, eatin’ corn bread an’ molasses, an’ drinkin’ the white stuff they call whiskey. Do you reckon it’s jest in the blood, Judge?”

“Yes” replied the Judge gravely, “I reckon it is.”

“Here’s Parker, Judge, in this cell. He wanted the strongest we had in the place. Think uv that Judge, a man choosin’ uv his own free will the worst cell in the whole jail.”

Mr. Shafer laughed again deep down in his stalwart brown throat, as he threw open the cell door.

“Walk right in,” he said to the Judge and Harry. “Here, Ed, are friends to see you.”

Parker had been sitting on a stool by the little barred window, and he rose hastily. His first look was for the Judge, and Harry noticed the deep confidence and gratitude that it showed. It was something for one human being to have another feel toward him in that way, and Harry was thrilled.

“I’ve brought Mr. Beauchamp, Ed,” said the Judge. “You told me you wanted to see him.”

The man looked at Harry. The light from the window was fairly good and Harry, for the first time, observed his face closely. It was not bad. There was a just width between his eyes, and his gaze now was straightforward.

“I want to thank you, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said, “you see I couldn’t come to you an’ I had to ask you to come to me. Judge Braxton brought me the paper, in which you wrote so strong, callin’ for fair play for me. An’ you kept still, when with Miss Cynthia, the Judge’s daughter, you saw me thar in the Judge’s house. All I wanted was time; if I’d a been took then I’d a-been carried right back to Randolph County, an’ that would a-been the end uv me.”

But Harry could not resist saying, “Still you killed Logsdon; I understand that you do not deny it.”

The man’s eyes became dark and his figure trembled, whether with returning anger or horror at a memory, Harry could not say. Then he burst out passionately:

“Mister, I done it because I had to do it! That man an’ his friends had been houndin’ me all the time! He laid in wait for me in the bushes an’ he shot at me when I passed. What kin you people here know about it, livin’ in a big town, an’ safe every minute uv your lives. Ez fur me, any tree might have Jim Logsdon behind it, aimin’ his rifle at my heart, an’ the mountains are covered with trees!”

Some of his words were grotesque, but the effect was far from it. His eyes burned with earnestness.

“Just put yourself in my place!” he said.

Harry was moved, as he had been that evening in the Judge’s house.

“The Judge here will see that you have a fair trial,” he said.

Parker once more turned upon Judge Braxton that extraordinary look of faith and gratitude, and said simply:

“Yes, the Judge will get me off, an’ then I’m goin’ to Oklahoma to live. I ain’t goin’ to have anything more to do with fightin’”.

Judge Braxton and Harry left the jail together and walked down the street.

“I suppose Cynthia told you what I saw the night before Christmas in your house,” said Harry.

“Yes, but I was not to speak of it to you, and I should not do so now had not Parker mentioned it. Why did you not refer in any way in your paper to the manner of Parker’s entrance into Groveton?”

“I think it was principally because Cynthia asked me not to do so,” replied Harry frankly.

The Judge did not seem to notice the character of his reply. Instead he uttered a little sigh.

“They depict Justice blindfolded,” he said, “It may mean that you have to go up blind alleys to have Justice done. The law Harry is a queer thing, and the great trouble is that a set of laws good for one community is not necessarily the best thing for another.”

The case of Ed Parker continued to attract attention in Groveton, owing to the repeated threats of the Logsdon people who frequently came down from the mountains and clamored openly in the streets of the little city for Justice, which to them meant the punishment of their foe in a manner that they should dictate, and they were aided and abetted by Dave Strong whose temper was growing blacker every day. Strong and Logsdons were saying in the saloons of Groveton that somebody was going to be punished for protecting a murderer.

Judge Braxton went serenely on. Mountaineers were not above bushwhacking, and the dark hills could tell some tragic tales, but fear entered little into his composition. Besides, he was too commanding a figure in all that region to be molested by sharpshooters in the bush. These men were crafty and cunning, and they usually knew where to strike. He rode or drove along the mountain roads, and never considered it necessary to examine the forest on either side.

The time for the accused man’s trial drew near and the Judge applied for the change of venue. He wanted the case transferred to Groveton, but the Logsdons had hired a mountain lawyer named Henderson, very shrewd and very unscrupulous to assist the commonwealth’s attorney in the prosecution. He opposed the change violently, and insisted that the trial should be conducted in the county in which the killing occurred. He presented many affidavits, showing that Randolph was the most peaceful county in America. The people there were renowned for gentleness. If there was any place in the world where Parker could get exact and even Justice it was at the county seat of Randolph.

Judge Braxton fought craft with the sword blade of truth and he insisted not only that his client could not get a fair trial in Randolph county, but that his life would be in imminent danger before the trial. Neither the Judge nor Henderson secured what he wished. The change of venue was made but the case was sent to Springtown, a county seat in the hills about thirty miles southeast of Groveton. The sheriff and a strong party transferred the prisoner to the Springtown jail, and the trial was to begin ten days later.

Harry knew that the case would be followed with minute interest by the people of a dozen counties and he resolved that the Herald should have a full report of it. Springtown was connected with Groveton by telephone and a report could be sent in every day. It was his first intention to dispatch his young reporter, but he finally decided to go himself owing to the importance of the case.

Tom Kidd was also going to Springtown to look after some oil and coal prospects that lay back of the village a mile or two, and he changed his date of departure to go with Harry. As the weather was now good it would be a day’s fine ride for the two friends across the hills, and, having arranged for everything in his absence, Harry dropped into the Judge’s office the day before his departure.

“I’m going over to Springtown, Judge,” he said, “to see you try that case of Ed Parker. It brings in so many complications that everybody will want to know how it’s going. So, I intend to make a daily report of it to the Herald.”

The Judge stroked his smooth chin thoughtfully. “That case is certainly developing” he said,“I’ve got to fight for a man’s life against a whole clan.”

“I know it and that’s the reason I’m going.”

“It’s even stirred up Cynthia,” said Judge Braxton. “She announced yesterday that as she was not to return to school just yet she was going with me to Springtown. She suddenly remembered some distant cousins we have there, said she’d been promising’em a visit for years, and that it could be deferred no longer. Harry, do you know women?”

“I can’t say that I do, sir.”

“Well, I’m old, and I’ve had more chance to observe. Cynthia doesn’t care a rap about those cousins. She is going because she wants to be present at that trial. Why didn’t she come out at once and give the real reason?”

“Perhaps it’s just a woman’s way, sir.”

“I suppose that’s the true and only explanation. As I grow older I see more clearly the mental difference between men and women. They move in curves and we move in straight lines, and they and we will never move alike.”

I presume that you and Cynthia will go in your “buggy” said Harry, “and as Tom Kidd is going too, we’ll ride along with you if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, of course,” said the Judge heartily, “That is, if Cynthia does not file any objection. But if she does she’s able to tell you so herself. I suppose Kidd is going over there to rip up the earth for his railroads and mines.”

“I think he has some such idea,” said Harry with a laugh. “Tom looks far ahead.”

“I suppose that the railroads and mines will be good things,” said the Judge with the semblance of a sigh, “but I do hate to see the green hills slashed and laid bare. We start just after daylight, Harry.”

“We’ll be ready,” said Harry.“You won’t be ahead of us.”

Harry Beauchamp left the office with a light springy step, and the Judge’s eye twinkled as his glance followed him. It was still twinkling, as the alert young figure disappeared down the steps. Then he went to the window and watched Harry walking down the street. When he turned away, a pleased smile was on his face.

Both Harry and Tom were present the next morning when the Braxton vehicle, drawn by a powerful bay horse, rolled from the yard. Cynthia’s belongings were in a small leather trunk behind the seat, and Cynthia herself affected a vast surprise at the presence of the two young men.

“Why, where are you going?” she said.

“The Judge said you wanted us to guard you on the way to Springtown,” replied Harry “and we are here.”

“I’m afraid you’re a better writer of fiction than of fact,” she said.

“Do let us jog along behind, Cynthia” said Kidd in his blunt way.

“If you promise to be good you can come,” she said.

It was a crisp day, and luckily the road was dry and hard. The Judge drove with a practiced hand, but he had grown so used to it with long habit that it required no more conscious thought than breathing, and he did most of the talking, addressing himself sometimes to Cynthia, and sometimes to the young men who rode at either wheel. From the pinnacle of a hill he told them to turn and look at Groveton, several miles away. They could see the church spires, the gleaming roof of the courthouse and columns of smoke. The Judge’s eyes glistened.

“I’ve stopped at this place off and on for more than forty years to look down at Groveton,” he said. “When I was just a young lawyer and it was a mere village I used to do it. I was born there, and, I’ve never wished to live anywhere else. It’s curious how a place winds itself around your heart.”

“It’s going to be a great town,” said. Tom Kidd, squaring his firm chin. “It’s the mouth of the valley through which all these hills will pour their coal, iron and oil.”

“And as you will be our richest citizen then, Tom, I hope you won’t forget me,” said Cynthia.

“I wasn’t thinking of myself altogether” said Kidd stoutly. “Of course I want my share when this big development comes, but I expect all Groveton to benefit, and I love the place too, Judge.”

“I know you do, Tom,” said the Judge warmly, “and I’ve no doubt you’ll bring it about.”

Cynthia said little on the ride but Harry saw that she enjoyed it. The frosty wind whipped a deeper red into her cheeks, and her eyes sparkled, as they looked down from the crests of hills over vast masses of forest. Less than ten miles from Groveton, and they were in a region that was almost a wilderness. The road ran for long distances between unbroken phalanxes of trees. They crossed clear brooks which murmured frostily as they ran down from the hills.

There was a small and very bad hotel at a village half way to Springtown, but capable Mrs. Braxton had put food in the buggy and they decided to have luncheon at the roadside, the day being warmer than usual at that period of the year. Harry and Tom also had similar foresight and they made contributions from their saddle bags.

The Judge turned his horse into a narrow path, and a hundred yards farther on stopped at a little spring that gushed from the base of a hill. Surrounding the spring was a circular open space still thick with grass, in which they turned the horses loose to graze. Then they made their brief camp beside the spring. The Judge’s blue eyes laughed like those of a boy, and, for the time, he was almost a boy in fact. Harry clearly recognized in him the eternal spirit of youth.

“This has always been a favorite place of mine,” said the Judge. “These hills are full of springs of cold water, but this is the coldest of all. I first camped here fifty years ago, when there was not a house within ten miles. A half mile farther up I shot my first deer, when I was only fourteen years old. Even now I thrill when I come to that spot. Look over the valley there, boys, and down that ravine. Isn’t it a glorious place?”

He threw back the mass of white hair from his forehead, and gazed over the land that he loved so well.

“Probably there are a half dozen moonshiners’ stills up the gulleys and ravines,” said sober Tom Kidd, “but there’s coal and iron in them, too, and everything will be changed soon!”

The Judge laughed and came back to earth.

“I don’t hate the moonshiners,” he said. “They are not much more than a picturesque survival.”

Cynthia spread the cloth on the grass near the spring and they ate. Their only drink was cold water, but they did not wish anything more. The crisp air of the hills gave an ample appetite. Before they started again Harry and Cynthia sat on a big rock, where they could look over the distant plain.

“Harry,” said Cynthia, “do you think it wise for you to go to Springtown to this trial?”

“Wise? Why not?” he said. “I need this news for the Herald. It will add circulation.”

“I was thinking of—well,of something else,” she said, hesitating a little. “You know how much you have written against the feuds of the mountaineers, and Springtown is in the mountains. Many of them are inflamed against you. Cad Burke, too, roams through all that region.”

“You don’t mean to intimate, Cynthia, that I’m afraid of any of these people or of Cad Burke?”

Harry’s face flushed as he asked the question, and she knew that she had made a mistake.

“I did not think of such a thing,” she replied. “I know too well to the contrary, but you would not want to be forced into any trouble.”

Harry laughed.

“Why, Cynthia,” he said, “I can’t get into any trouble. I certainly mean only peace myself, and I have nothing to do with the feuds of the mountaineers. So far as this case is concerned I’m a simple reporter.”

She did not know just what to say, and as they heard the Judge at that moment, calling them for the start she was saved the necessity of an answer.

“We’ve got fifteen more miles to Springtown,” said Judge Braxton, “and they are rough miles, too. We must be moving. That tiny black cloud there in the southwest and the shift of the wind indicates that we’ll have rain, cold rain, about nightfall, and we don’t want to be caught in it.”

Nevertheless, the journey continued pleasant, and their high spirits did not abate. Harry’s mind reverted only once to Cynthia’s words. Could she really believe that he was in any danger? His heart leaped at the thought that she should have anxiety for him. But she would have felt apprehensions for Kidd, too, had she thought him in danger, and the beat became normal again.

They drew near to Springtown none too soon. The rain that the Judge had predicted began to fall, slow and cold, about twilight, and they were glad when they saw the first houses of the rambling village.

The pretensions of Springtown were not great, but they were equal to the reality. It contained five or six hundred inhabitants, its buildings shambling about a small square, in which stood a brick courthouse.

As they entered the town the little party separated, Judge Braxton and Cynthia going to the house of their relative, while Harry and Kidd rode to a shabby wooden building which was dignified with the name of the Grand Hotel. But, however unpromising the Grand Hotel looked they were glad enough of its shelter. The air was cold and the rain was increasing. When they registered, the clerk looked at them with great interest.

“Is this Mr. Beauchamp, the editor of the Groveton Herald?” he asked of Harry.

“You’ve identified me, all right” replied Harry, smiling. “I’ve come over to write daily accounts of the Parker trial.”

“You have,” said the clerk, slowly, “and this, I reckon, is Mr. Kidd, who is building the railroad.”

“You have me too,” said Tom, also smiling.

The clerk examined them with the curious and critical gaze to which strangers are usually subjected in the hill country.

“I’ve heard a good deal of you two fellows,” he said. “There’s been a lot of talk about you around Springtown.”

“What are they saying?” asked Harry.

“It’s mostly against you,” replied the clerk frankly. “I’m telling it to you straight, because I like your looks. You ain’t what I expected to see.”

Harry saw that the man was in earnest and meant them well, so he briefly thanked him. Then he inquired about a room, and he and Tom were assigned to one together. Patronage was good at the Grand Hotel during the Circuit Court, and no man could have a room alone.

They changed to the dry clothing that they carried in their capacious saddle bags, and remained in the room before supper, which would not be ready for half an hour. It was quite dark now and the rain was falling heavily. It was a poor room, but the contrast with the cold wet night made it look good. Harry, sitting in a cane-bottomed chair beside the window, was silent. The words of the clerk persisted in his mind. Why should he and Kidd be unpopular at Springtown, and why should people talk against them? He, at least, had never been in Springtown.

His mind reverted also to Cynthia’s question about his wisdom in coming there. He could not understand why he should be disliked or threatened. Did others see something that he could not see? He hated obscurity, and plots in the dark, and his brows contracted into a frown.

“What are you angry about, Harry?” asked Kidd.

“Oh, nothing. I’m merely sorry that we had to arrive in the rain. There goes the supper bell. Come on, Tom, I’m hungry.”

Kidd was as hungry as Harry and they hurried into the large dining room. But they were not before the crowd, which consisted largely of lawyers, witnesses, stock “buyers and a group of men whom Harry could not easily classify. They were obviously of the mountains and they ate industriously, but they had little to say.

There were four long tables and Harry and Kidd found seats at one of them, where a waitress served them in a rapid, careless manner.

A man on Harry’s right leaned over and touched him on the shoulder.

“You are Mr. Boshong, editor of the Groveton Herald, ain’t you?” he said.

“I am,” replied Harry, “and you—”

“I’m John Henderson, the lawyer who has been hired to help prosecute Ed Parker, and I wish I may die if I don’t convict him. An ugly, a terribly ugly case, Mr. Boshong. Judge Braxton is a clever man, but he can’t save him from a just punishment.”

“I’ve no opinion to express about his guilt,” said Harry dryly. “I’m waiting for the trial to disclose the facts.”

“But lots of people here have opinions and they are pretty strong ones, too,” continued Henderson, who was in a garrulous frame of mind. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen the public wrought up so much.”

Harry examined his neighbor curiously. He was a a man of middle age, very tall, very thin, with a long narrow face and eyes that slanted slightly. Harry decided that it was a cunning and unpleasant face, in accordance with the lawyer’s reputation.

“I heard that you had come with Judge Braxton,” resumed Henderson, “and that Mr. Kidd had come, too. I guess that’s Kidd on the other side of you.”

Harry introduced them and Henderson rattled on:

“It’s a big case,” he said, “and I don’t wonder that you want to print the news about it, but it’s bound to have only one ending. Even Judge Braxton can’t save him, and between you and me, Mr. Boshong, the Judge is growing old, and ain’t the man he used to be.”

“I see him often,” said Harry brusquely, “and I have certainly noticed no failure of either his mental or physical powers.”

But Henderson was not at all abashed. A brazen cheek was the most valuable part of his stock in trade.

“Have it your way, if it suits you,” he said with an air of joviality. “I noticed that the Judge has brought his daughter, Miss Cynthia, with him, a powerful pretty girl, about the prettiest I ever saw.”

“Miss Braxton is undoubtedly handsome,” said Harry, restraining a rising anger.

The lawyer glanced at Harry. He was a shrewd man, a great man, indeed, in the minds of many of the simple mountaineers. Moreover he was bold.

“Handsome ain’t the word,” he said slowly and deliberately. “It ain’t strong enough, not by a long shot. She’s peaches and cream. There ain’t anything like her, Mr. Boshong, when I looked at her, driving down the street with her father, I had thoughts that never occurred to me before. I’m a bachelor. I ain’t as young as I used to be, but then, I’m not an old man, either. I’ve got a big law practice, and it’s going to be bigger. Likely, I’ll go to Congress in a few years. I could go over to Groveton now, and live in the finest house there if I wanted to do it. You look like a man of sense, Mr. Boshong, and so I ask you, why not?”

“Why not?” said Harry between dry lips, startled by the man’s coolness and audacity.

“I knew I wasn’t mistaken in you and that you had plenty of sense,” said Henderson triumphantly. “I think I’ll have a try. My feelings are calling me, strong.”

“She’s not out of school yet.”

“That don’t make any difference. I can wait, and then, maybe it’s easier to catch ’em when they are young.”

It was hard for Harry to restrain his disgust. The man was so open and coarse, but he remembered that he was in the mountains, where people, primitive in their ways, were blunt of speech. Nor could he dispute the fact that Henderson had a right to his “try”. With an effort he turned the conversation to something else, and presently he and Kidd left the dining room. He noticed that the eyes of the unclassified mountain group followed them. Then their identity came to him in a flash. They were members of the Logsdon faction, come to attend the trial, and, if possible, to influence the verdict. It was possible, too, that they could intimidate both Judge and jury. He had no doubt that everyone of them was a gun fighter, thoroughly armed with concealed weapons. The Parker case was looming bigger and bigger.

Harry felt a little shiver. He was reminded of an old saying: “Peace, peace, when there is no peace!” He was continually calling for law and order, and here he was face to face with gun fighters who intended to dictate a verdict.

“Let’s go up to our room for a few moments” said Kidd, “I’ve a few words to say to you.”

“Very well.”

When they were in the room Kidd locked the door, and drew Harry to a place where they could not be overheard.

“Have you brought a pistol with you, Harry?” he asked.

“No, you know that I never carry a weapon. I don’t believe in such foolishness.”

“All the same, it’s wisdom to have a pistol, and knowing how absurd you are, I brought two with me, one for myself, and one for you. Here is yours.”

Harry, rejected it, but Kidd insisted. He, too, had recognized the mountain crowd in the hotel, and he thoroughly understood their purpose.

“Harry,” he said, “this is no Sunday school gathering. Don’t be a fool.”

Harry finally took the weapon, but with aversion, and thrust it into his pocket. Kidd contemplated him, a slow smile coming over his face.

“Harry,” he said, “that lawyer, Henderson, whom we met at supper was an interesting man. A striking specimen of the frank, outspoken type. What do you think of his proposition to marry Cynthia Braxton, offhand?”

“He ought to ask her, first.”

“Which applies equally to everybody.”

Harry refused to say anything more, but gazed glumly out of the window, where the rain was still falling.

“Come down in the office, Harry,” said Tom, who remained perfectly calm. “It’s best to affiliate with these people, you for the sake of your news, and I to get their good will, if I can.”

“You are right,” said Harry, returning to his usual cheerful humor. “I apologize for the sulks. Come on.”

A great crowd was gathered in the office. All the lawyers, witnesses, cattle buyers and visiting mountaineers had drifted in. The air was thick with smoke.

Harry was deeply interested. People did not repel him merely because their clothing was rough and their speech ungrammatical. His manner was attractive, and he had a great capacity for making friends. Soon he was acquainted with all, except the members of the Logsdon clan who held aloof, and who were drinking quietly from private bottles filled with fiery stuff. Now and then one of them beckoned to Henderson, and when he went to him, they would whisper together.

The air in the room grew damp and heavy. It was overcharged with smoke and with another quality that seemed to Harry to contain a menace. More than thirty lawyers following the Circuit Court were scattered about, talking of their cases. Henderson was a dominant figure among them, recognized as the most daring and most successful. But the men of the Logsdon clan remained persistently in one corner, drinking steadily from their private bottles.

There was a stir near the door, and Judge Braxton came in, his lofty head of snow white hair towering above the others. A place was cleared and the best chair was brought for him. Harry noted with satisfaction the deference that was paid to him—he had deeply resented Henderson’s taunt that the Judge was growing old and breaking, knowing fully its untruth. It was evident to everyone that the old lion was the lion yet. The young lawyers were crowding about him, and Henderson himself was fawning. But he might be fawning for another reason. Harry had been repelled by the man at first, and now he hated him.

The coming of the Judge seemed to purify the atmosphere, but the undertone of menace was still there and Harry bore it in mind, when he slipped to the telephone booth. He did not send a long dispatch to the Herald, but he told what he thought to be the truth. He said that the mountain factions were coming in, that Springtown was full of armed men, and that some were resolved to have a verdict dictated by violence rather than facts. He was fully aware that the dispatch would bring criticism if not worse upon him, but he did not hesitate.

When he returned to the hotel office, the crowd was as thick as ever, and he caught a glimpse of a heavy, dark figure going out of the doorway. His heart leaped again, because he knew the figure was that of Cad Burke, but he pretended not to see, and he made no comment. Judge Braxton rose a moment or two later to depart also, and said heartily to Harry and Kidd:

“Come and see us tomorrow. You know that we are staying with Jim Arnold and his people. It’s only four or five hundred yards away. Cynthia will expect you.”

“I’d like to come over, too, and see Miss Cynthia,” said Henderson. “They do say, Judge, that your daughter is the finest looking girl in thirty counties. Because you and I are on different sides in a big case it doesn’t make us enemies.”

Judge Braxton started and regarded Henderson intently from beneath his bushy white brows. But he was essentially a man of peace and tact.

“Come along, Henderson,” he said. “You’ll be welcome. We’re always glad to see the old boys as well as the young ones.”

Henderson flushed a little. Tom Kidd put the back of his hand to his mouth.

The Judge soon departed and Harry and Kidd went to their own room.

“Harry,” said Kidd, “did you see Cad Burke?”

“I caught a glimpse of him.”

“He came in and talked with the Logsdons while you were in the telephone booth. He’s a relative of theirs, and he and Dick Logsdon seemed to be on the best of terms. What kind of a dispatch did you send to the Herald?”

“I told the truth. I said a party was gathering here with the obvious purpose of compelling the kind of verdict they wanted.”

“Um-um, correct, but indiscreet. I’m glad I made you take that pistol. You keep it with you night and day.”

“They can take what I sent as they choose,” said Harry. “Now I’m going to sleep, and I’d advise you, Mr. Thomas Kidd, to do the same.”

Their constitutions were so sound and their nerves so steady that troubles could not keep them awake, and in five minutes both were sound asleep. At 10 o’clock the next morning they were on their way, dressed scrupulously, to the house of James Arnold, four or five hundred yards from the courthouse. The rain had ceased and the day though cold was bright with sunshine. The streets were filled with people, the population of the town being doubled temporarily by the opening of Circuit Court. The stock traders were busy already, and horses and mules were being sold in the streets about the public square. The mountaineers were loafing along the sidewalks, and Harry took note of Dick Logsdon, a black-haired and black-eyed giant of a man, standing at a corner. He wondered if Cad Burke too was near.

The Arnold house, built of brick, and standing in a large yard, well-kept, was one of the best in town. Cynthia, with two cousins somewhat older than herself, was in the parlor. After the introductions and enough talk for politeness, Cynthia and Harry drew somewhat to one side.

“I have heard from Father,” she said in a low tone, “that Parker’s enemies have gathered here in force, and that Cad Burke also has been seen in town.”

“It is true,” said Harry.

“Harry,” she asked, “are you armed? Have you a pistol?”

She leaned a little toward him, and it seemed to him that her eyes were glittering and hard like polished steel.

“Cynthia,” he replied, “you are the second person to ask me that question. Why do you do it? Why do you, a woman, urge me to the taking of human life? You know how I hate these killings and feuds that disgrace our state.”

“I do not urge you to take life,” she replied. “I merely suggest that you protect your own. Cad Burke killed your uncle. You know that, everybody knows it, although it could not be proved. You are here to write things that people will read, things that many of them will not like. There is danger in this town, I know it and you know it. Who is to guard a man if he will not guard himself.”

Harry laughed uneasily. Cynthia’s eyes were as hard and bright as ever. She was not one whit abashed by his words.

“Cynthia,” he said, “I feel sometimes that a power is pushing me on toward the very acts I loathe the most. What have I to do with all these quarrels and mutterings. But I will tell you I have a pistol. I did not want to take it, but it was forced upon me. It is simply so much extra and useless weight that I am carrying.”

She drew a long breath, it seemed to him that it was a breath of relief, and then the glitter of steel passed from her eyes.

“Who is the man coming?” she asked, glancing through the window toward the street.

“It’s Mr. Henderson, who is your father’s chief opponent in this case. He is coming here to see you. I heard him asking your father last night for permission.”

Cynthia’s eyes danced now.

“He looks distinguished,” she said. “I haven’t seen so long a frock coat in years.”

Mr. Henderson was attired in the full legal costume of the hills. His overcoat was open. The skirts of his black frock coat touched his gray trousers at the knees. His shoes shone with polish, a black fly-away tie encircled his tall white collar. The puffed bosom of his white shirt was adorned with gold studs. When he entered and Harry of necessity introduced him he raised a soft black hat, disclosing thick pompadoured hair, which bore a faint scent of oil. Harry considered him the most detestable man that he had ever seen, and he was surprised and indignant, when Cynthia smiled upon him and talked with him agreeably.

“You are coming to the courthouse after dinner, ain’t you, Miss Cynthia?” asked Henderson. “The opening of the Parker case is set for 2 o’clock. Me and your father are going to have the biggest legal fight that was ever known in these hills. But we’re only enemies in the courtroom, we’re the best of friends outside. You should have seen us chumming at the hotel last night.”

“I’ve no doubt it was worth seeing,” she replied gravely. “I’m also going to see and hear both of you in the courtroom every day as long as the trial goes on. And I warn you, Mr. Henderson, that my father is not easily beaten.”

“If I should defeat him I’d consider it the greatest triumph of my life,” said Henderson gallantly. He chattered on and Harry saw that the man’s boldness was not confined to the criminal law. He had a way with women too. His audacity did not fail him there. The knowledge only increased Harry’s dislike and distrust. But he presently made a ceremonious departure, saying that he must prepare himself for what he called his big fight.

“Cynthia,” said Harry, “I don’t see why you’re willing to waste your time on such a man.”

For answer she only looked in his face and laughed, and Harry, in spite of himself, was compelled to laugh too.

“Cynthia,” he said, “I’ve no right to criticise any action of yours, but I tell you I’m going to sit beside you in the courtroom this afternoon, if you don’t drive me away.”

“You can come,” she said.

All steps led to the courthouse that afternoon. The room was large, but every seat was taken, and men were standing, packed tightly around the doors. Judge Lasley, a tall, thin, smoothly-shaven old man was in the chair, and Bosley, the sheriff and two deputies sat in the dock with the prisoner. Parker was wasted, and deadly pale. His glance shifted continually to the south side of the room, where the gun fighters were gathered in a close group, their faces dark and lowering.

Henderson sat beside the Commonwealth’s attorney, Atchison, a man with a weak face. Harry decided at once that Atchison would merely play a poor second to Henderson. The Judge was near his client, and Harry looked at him with admiration. The great old lawyer was in battle array. The thick white hair waved defiantly over his broad forehead. He was as erect as an Indian chief, and his shoulders were square and firm. Harry observed in his eyes the same glitter of polished blue steel that he had noticed in the morning in Cynthia’s.

A space among the benches was reserved for women, and Harry and Kidd sat there with Cynthia and her cousins. Cynthia watched everything intently and eagerly. Her gaze rested first with confidence upon her father, then with pity upon the prisoner, then with a flash of defiance upon the close group gathered against the south wall about Dick Logsdon.

Cynthia, a mere girl in years, had inherited her father’s powerful and penetrating mind. She knew, she felt in every vein and fibre that all the elements of a great tragedy were gathered in that single room. But she was not afraid, at least not for herself, and soon she forgot everything else in her absorption, as the drama began to unfold.

The presiding Judge also glanced about the courtroom. Judge Lasley had served many years upon that troubled Circuit, and he knew every man present from Dick Logsdon and Cad Burke just behind him, on to the stock buyers whom curiosity had brought to the benches. He too knew that fire and tow were there, and that they needed only to be brought together to cause the conflagration. But without a tremor of hand or voice he went on with his duty, an obscure old hero of the backwoods.

The case of the state against Edward Parker was called. Judge Braxton responded for the defense, and after the usual preliminaries a jury was selected, the task occupying the afternoon. Court reconvened early the next morning, and they proceeded at once with the examination of witnesses. The same crowd, arranged in the same way, was in the room.

Now the duel between the two lawyers began. As Harry had surmised, the Commonwealth’s attorney quickly receded into the background, and Henderson carried the full weight of the prosecution. Harry was bound to recognize his dexterity. He introduced a half dozen witnesses who swore that Parker had been the aggressor, and Logsdon an innocent victim. They told their stories smoothly, and, if anyone hesitated, for a moment, he was skilfully led over the difficult place by Henderson. It seemed to Harry that they had been coached carefully, but their tales hung together, and must appear convincing to the jury.

He looked at Judge Braxton, but the old lawyer was calm and unruffled. He was merely studying every witness intently, as if he would search out his weak place. Often he looked him full in the eye, and every time the witness shrank before that concentrated gaze of blue fire.

Harry’s glance wandered on to Dick Logsdon and his friends. He saw evil triumph on their faces, and then he looked at the prisoner who was as pallid as death. A boy slipped into the courtroom and he heard the rustle of opening papers.

It was a package of delayed Heralds, containing his first dispatch. Dick Lggsdon had one of the papers, and Harry watched him as he read. He saw the man’s face contract into a deep frown. When he finished he looked at Harry and his eyes were menacing. Harry gave him back his look. He was astonished to find that there was a pleasure in bidding defiance. Logsdon dropped his eyes first, and Harry felt as if he had achieved a triumph.

But Judge Braxton was now beginning to cross-examine, and Harry saw a great lawyer in action. He took the first witness, a Logsdon nephew, a tall youth with a sallow complexion, and soon had him squirming with uneasiness, as he sat in the witness chair. He assailed him at different points, he would suddenly abandon an opening and then return to it when least expected. The sallow youth contradicted himself again and again. Henderson sought to interfere, but Judge Lasley sternly ruled him down. Harry saw the faces of the jurymen alive with interest, and he knew with unerring instinct that Judge Braxton had already made a deep impression.

“He’s about the greatest criminal lawyer that ever happened in this country,” whispered Tom Kidd, “whenever I want to kill anybody I’m going to hire him first.”

Cynthia, who could not help but hear, smiled, and nodded at Tom. It pleased her to hear this praise of her father, and, in addition, her interest in the case, already great, was growing. She still kept a close and penetrating watch upon the whole courtroom. She saw the crushed figure of Parker straighten up a little, and a gleam of hope appear in his eyes. But she looked most at the Logsdon clan. The frown returned to the faces of everyone of them. She read them well. They were beginning to fear that a sure victim was escaping from their hands. She shut her firm white teeth and smiled. She hated the Logsdons and the lurking figure of Cad Burke beyond them, and she was quite willing to own it to herself.

The sallow youth left the witness stand and a man of sixty, stooped and scrawny, followed him. This witness wore a pointed chin beard, at which he continually pulled with a nervous hand. He looked first at Judge Lasley, as if he were trying to fathom that official’s opinion of him. Next, he looked at the Logsdons as if he would draw inspiration and courage from them, and then he looked at Judge Braxton, half in appeal and half in fear.

This man, Obadiah Hart, testified strongly against Parker. His evidence, if allowed to stand, would certainly convict the prisoner, and Henderson, who had cleverly led him along, drew a long breath of satisfaction. The faces of the Logsdon clan brightened.

Judge Braxton arose, and drew from his pocket a small folded paper which he held poised between his thumb and forefinger. Hart had not the remotest idea what the paper meant, but he shrank at sight of it. It contained to his ignorant and superstitious mind some vague and terrible threat. In spite of every effort, he watched it continually, as an unarmed man would watch a wild beast about to spring.

Judge Braxton had been stern enough to the sallow youth, but to the older man he was now a living threat, a deadly menace. His tall form towered still higher. His eyes were vivid blue fire, burning straight into Obadiah Hart’s craven soul.

“Obadiah Hart,” he said, “where were you in the year 1876?”

The question was thundered forth, and Hart fairly jumped in his seat.

“Why, why, I was here at my home in this county!”

“Think! Be careful. You are testifying on oath before a jury, and a man’s life is at stake. It is more than thirty years ago, but I ask you again where were you in the year 1876?”

“As I told you, before, I was here at my home in this county, working my farm like an honest man,” replied the witness sullenly.

But, as he spoke, he gazed fearfully at the little folded paper poised between the thumb and forefinger of Judge Braxton’s right hand.

Judge Braxton turned and faced the jury. He took one sweeping glance down the line, but it seemed to everyone of the twelve that his gaze was intended for him.

“Gentlemen of the Jury,” he said, “you have heard the statement made by the witness. That statement was a lie.”

“I object!” exclaimed Henderson. “Counsel has no right to denounce a witness.”

“Go on, Judge Braxton,” said Judge Lasley urbanely.

“That statement was a lie,” continued Judge Braxton, now gazing straight into the eyes of the cowering witness. “Obadiah Hart spent the year 1876 in the penitentiary at Frankfort serving a term for perjury. He was convicted in Williams county, where the perjury was committed, and I was present, when he was sentenced. I recalled it, when I learned that he was one of the witnesses for the prosecution in this case. I sent to Frankfort, and I have here in my hand the record obtained from the books in the penitentiary. May I read it to the jury, Your Honor?”

“I object! I object!” cried Henderson, white with wrath and chagrin—evidently he had not been informed of this forgotten page in the life of his witness. “The matter is irrelevant, your Honor!”

“Read the record, Judge Braxton,” said Judge Lasley placidly.

The Judge read and the facts were complete. Hart himself could make no denial. He sank in the witness chair, a nerveless lump.

“Now, gentlemen of the jury,” said Judge Braxton, “we have here a convicted perjurer, caught in the attempt to swear away a man’s life. It happened long ago, my friend Mr. Henderson will say. Nevertheless it happened, and I will show to you that Mr. Obadiah Hart, who calls himself an honest farmer, has not reformed his ways. A perjurer thirty years ago he has been the same perjurer today.”

He stood over the frightened man and tore his testimony to tatters. He uncovered numerous contradictions in his statements. He compelled him to admit that he had given numerous surmises as facts, and finally he dragged from him the admission that before the trial, he had been in close consultation many times with Dick Logsdon and other Logsdons.

Harry saw the increasing effect of the disclosures upon the jury. He noticed more than one of the jurymen glancing with sympathy at the prisoner. Nor was he the only one to note the change. Kidd leaned across and whispered:

“I think Parker is going to be acquitted. How the Judge slashes like a sword through that network of malice and lies!”

Obadiah Hart left the stand a thoroughly beaten man, and little sympathy followed him. His own friends glowered at him, as if he had been a traitor, and he slunk from the courtroom, his craven soul filled with the fear of another prosecution for perjury.

The story of the whole day was the same. Henderson fought with every resource at his command, but the tools of his trade were chiefly cunning and trickery. Right may go down before guile and craft, but not when right is powerful and bold. Harry recognized clearly that Henderson was no match for Judge Braxton, who could divine the mind of his antagonist, who, out of an experience of nearly half a century, knew every twist and turn of the law and also the inmost souls of men.

When evening came and the court adjourned until the following morning, it was generally believed that the prosecution had failed. Unless Henderson introduced some strong and unshakable testimony Parker would be acquitted. The Logsdons left the courtroom in a group, the loungers crowded around Judge Braxton to congratulate him upon the finest exhibition of legal skill that had been seen in a long time. Harry and Kidd walked with Cynthia and her cousins to the Arnold house. They were invited to supper and stayed, but immediately afterward Harry hurried to the Grand Hotel in order to send his dispatch by the telephone.

His account was necessarily long, as the day had been most important, and he was in the booth more than an hour. When he returned to the office of the hotel he found it crowded again, with many of the Logsdon clan, including Dick himself. Kidd was also there and he beckoned to Harry.

“I had to leave Mr. Arnold’s house,” he said, “because I have business here, but Cynthia is not without an admirer.”

“Henderson?”

“Yes, Henderson. He called shortly after you left. He is not, or at least seems not to be, cast down by the beating that he took today. He opened up a line of small talk that must have been about the finest the hills could furnish.”

“That man ought to be a good lawyer,” said Harry, “he has such a wonderful nerve.”

“No, nothing ails his nerve,” said Tom, who hid a smile behind his hand after his fashion.

The two, seeking air, moved to a window, and Dick Logsdon slouched over to them.

“You’re Boshong, the editor of that thar paper, the Groveton Herald, ain’t you?” he said darkly to Harry.

“Yes, I am Mr. Beauchamp, and I am the editor of the Groveton Herald.”

“Then I’m sayin’ to you that you ought to publish the facts about this case, tellin’ how Ed Parker is a real murderer.”

“Mr. Logsdon,” said Harry crisply, “I am telling the facts about this case, but they do not show that Ed Parker is a murderer. They indicate very clearly that, in the last resort he killed to save his own life. Moreover, I wish to say that I am editing my own newspaper and that I want no advice from you or any member of your family.”

Logsdon growled, and his hand stole toward his hip pocket, but he thought better of it and slouched away. Kidd watched him curiously, and. then said to Harry.

“You use singularly warlike language for a man who objects so strongly to carrying a pistol. I hope you realize that you are in the mountains, where people shoot.”

“I spoke hastily. I admit it. The man got upon my nerves. I shall restrain my temper next time.”

Kidd shrugged his shoulders.

“Harry,” he said, “you’re not the angel you think you are.”

“Stop it, Tom!” exclaimed Harry. I told Cynthia last night that some power seemed to be continually pushing me in the way that I didn’t wish to go. Now, here you are too, egging me on.”

Kidd shrugged his shoulders again.

“A caustic critic of people who shoot needs more than a pen.” he said.

Harry withdrew to his own room in order to avoid the possibility of trouble with any of the Logsdons. He was among the first in the courtroom the next morning, and Cynthia arrived a few minutes later with her father. All the Logsdons came and occupied their usual place. The room was packed more densely than on the day before. A way had to be cleared for the witnesses.

This day was a repetition of the one before. New witnesses swore to the guilt of Parker, and they were demolished in turn by Judge Braxton. Henderson used all his craft and cunning. He had never been better, according to his methods, but it became more evident than ever that guile could not possibly be a match for right, when right was allied with courage and skill.

The day closed with the examination of the last witness. The lawyers would speak on the morrow. But the impartial already considered the verdict a foregone conclusion. Parker would certainly be acquitted. Harry had been writing out his dispatch in the course of the day, as the testimony was given, and now he telephoned it early. When he finished, he went with Kidd into the dining room for his supper. It was their intention to call again upon Cynthia and her cousins.

The night came on dark and gloomy with more rain, and Harry noticed that the dining room was not crowded. He spoke of it to Kidd, and ascribed it to their late entry.

“It may be so,” said Kidd, but the people in the lobby were not more than half as numerous as they were last night. The Logsdons were not there, nor have they been here to supper.”

“I suppose they’ve given it up and gone home. Of course Judge Braxton has smashed the prosecution all to pieces. Anybody can see that.”

Kidd glanced at him. “Maybe,” he said.

It was now about eight o’clock of a dirty night. The rain beat in gusts against the’window panes, and they heard the whistle of the wind.

“An ugly evening” said Harry. “Perhaps we’d better not go to see Cynthia and her cousins. They won’t be expecting us in such weather.”

“No, we’d better not go,” said Kidd.

“Why do you say it in that sepulchral tone? You look like an old witch.”

“It’s just a little way I have at times. The change of voice and tone gives variety.”

Harry was preoccupied, but he could not keep from noticing that the people in the dining room were unusually quiet. They departed, too, with celerity and silence. When he and Tom finished all the rest were gone.

“One would think they were hurrying away to a play,” said Harry.

“It’s a good simile,” said Tom.

They walked into the lobby. It was almost deserted. The friendly clerk was at the desk and he nodded cheerfully.

“Bad night, gents,” he said. “I’d stay indoors, if I were you. ”

“But the others are not doing it,” said Harry. “All your guests seem to be out.”

“That’s so,” continued the clerk briskly. “Bad judgment on their part. I repeat that if I were you I’d stay in here and be comfortable.”

“What’s become of the Logsdons?” asked Harry.

The clerk waved his hand airily.

“Off to a saloon, maybe, and then again, maybe they’re riding back to their homes in the mountains. They don’t mind the rain and the dark.”

But Harry had detected something strange in the clerk’s manner and his curiosity was aroused. Three or four old men, sitting in the chairs, were silent and watchful. It seemed to Harry that their manner was tense and strained. He walked toward the door, and their eyes followed him. He looked out. Although it was still raining lightly, the night was not very dark.

“Tom,” he said to Kidd, who had followed him, “do you notice anything peculiar? The air seems to me to be charged with some strange quality.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed it. It’s mental. I should call it a strained sort of waiting for the unusual to happen.”

“Let’s go out,” said Harry. “This thing, whatever it is, is weighing on me.”

“I’m with you,” said Kidd.

They stepped out, and walked about fifty yards. They did not see a single human being. Apparently Springtown was deserted. The windows of the houses were closed also. Everything was dark.

“What does it mean?” asked Harry.

“Let’s walk on a little,” said Kidd.

They went a hundred yards or more and stopped. Harry heard a peculiar sound like the growl of a wild beast.

“What’s that?” he exclaimed.

“If you’ll look down that little alley you’ll see the cause of it,” said Kidd. It’s the Logsdons gathering to lynch Ed Parker, and they’re in great force, too.”

Harry looked and saw the dark mass of many men.

“Do they know this at the jail?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I had merely suspected it a little while ago and now I am confirmed.”

“Then we must warn them! Good God, we can’t permit such a thing! Any lynching is bad enough, but to lynch an innocent man is worst of all! To the jail! Will you go with me?”

“I’m game for it! Come on!”

They broke into a run for the jail, which was at the south end of the town a quarter of a mile away. Two or three men in the gathering crowd saw them, and, suspecting their purpose, fired. Harry heard the bullets whistling near, and the sound was remarkably unpleasant. It was also a wonderful stimulus to speed, and they ran much faster.

“Have you that pistol, Harry?” panted Tom.

“Yes!”

“Then you may need it! They’ll be after us soon as they recover from their surprise! Here we are at the jail. Beat on the door and shout!”

The jail, a two story building of heavy logs, stood in a small yard. Harry, picking up a stick, thundered with it on the thick door.

“Wake up! Wake up!” he cried. “The Logsdons are coming to lynch Parker. They’ll be on you in two minutes!”

The door was thrown open, and a shock head was thrust out. It was that of the jailer, Hunter. Harry and Kidd gave him no time to parley. They sprang inside, locked the door, and also put a great bar in place.

They stood in a small hall, lighted partly by an oil lamp.

“Gentlemen! gentlemen!” exclaimed the jailer, “Remember the law!”

“We’re here to help you keep it!” said Harry. “Look through the bars of that window,there and you can see the Logsdons coming. Fifty men are in that crowd, and they are all armed. Some of them carry rifles.”

A tall figure appeared from the interior of the jail. It was that of the Sheriff, Bosley. The jailer was a yielding man, but the sheriff was cast in a sterner mold.

“You’re right!” he exclaimed. “It’s the Logsdons coming for a lynching, but, by God, they’ll go away without it. I thank you, Mr. Boshong, and you, Mr. Kidd, for bringing us this warning in time!”

He called into the dark interior of the jail, and the two deputies came with rifles, bringing one also for the sheriff. Harry saw at once who would be in command there.

The sheriff went to the window, and fired his rifle over the heads of the dark mass of men who were close at hand. The group heaved a little, and then stood still.

“In the name of the law I command you to stand back!” the sheriff cried. “What do you want here?”

A tall figure, wearing a grotesque mask, came forward a little from the group. Harry saw that nearly all the men wore similar masks that disguised them but partially. He had no doubt that their spokesman was Dick Logsdon. His walk and manner betrayed him.

“We want the murderer, Ed Parker,” said the man. “Justice is about to be defeated, an’ we mean to have him an’ punish him as he deserves.”

“Whether he is a murderer or not is for a jury to say,” replied the sheriff firmly “and you can’t get him. I warn you, too, Dick Logsdon, that there are three good rifles, and a lot of pistols here, and we mean to shoot. Better think it over and go back to your cabins.”

The men drew back, but several of them fired. Harry heard the bullets thudding on the stout logs. The sheriff pulled trigger again. and a cry came from the crowd.

“I barked one,” he said. “I didn’t shoot to kill.”

“They’ve gone further back,” said the jailer, who was evidently ill at ease. “Wouldn’t it be better to talk with them, Mr. Bosley? That’s a big crowd of desperate men, and they are mighty dangerous.”

“Talk hell!” exclaimed Bosley. “We’re here to hold this jail, Jim Hunter. We’re not going to let that crowd of drunken bloodhunters lynch a man who will be cleared tomorrow. If you want to do any talking you can go out there and join them, but me and my deputies are going to see that Ed Parker is kept safe.”

“You are not three only,” said Tom Kidd quietly. “My friend here, Mr. Beauchamp, and I are armed, and if the Logsdons attack we stand with you, and shoot with you.”

“My friend speaks for us both,” said Harry.

“That’s the talk,” said Bosley heartily. “I knew you two would stand by. Dick has got the rest of the town bullied. Like as not a fresh gang or two have come in tonight to help him, but five of us behind thick walls can make it warm for any number that comes.”

Harry went back into the main part of the jail. Here he met Mrs. Hunter, terribly excited and much afraid. The prisoners also had learned what was afoot and they were trembling in their cells. Harry asked to see Parker, and the jailer consented. Parker was sitting on his bed and he seemed resigned.

“Mr. Beauchamp,” he said, “I know what it is all about. I heard the shot and I knew that the Logsdons had come for me. I’ve been watching them the last two days, and I knew all the time that this was what they intended, if Judge Braxton showed up their witnesses. I’m awful thankful to the Judge and you, but they’ll get me, if they have to batter the jail down.”

“Don’t give up, man,” said Harry. “The sheriff and two of his deputies are here. They will fight to the last, and Kidd and I will help, too.”

“They’ve made up their minds to get me and there’s a lot of ’em,” said Parker dully.

Harry remained with him a few minutes to give him more encouragement if he could, but he soon returned to the hall, where Bosley, the deputies and Kidd were on guard. There had been no movement yet by the Logsdons, who were gathered four or five hundred yards away.

“Won’t the town rise and drive these men away?” asked Harry.

“Rise nothing,” replied Bosley. “Springtown ain’t a Sunday school place. Half the people here are kin by marriage or blood poisonin’ to the Logsdons, and half the rest don’t care. Most of the other fourth are afraid, and besides they ain’t organized. If Parker is saved it’s we five that will save him. I’m sorry it’s turning darker. It gives ’em a better chance to come closer without taking a big risk.”

It was still raining a little, and heavy clouds now obscured the moon and stars. A man was invisible fifty yards away, and the sheriff became worried. His uneasiness was increased by a sudden burst of firing, and the thudding of heavy bullets on the walls. Two bullets entered the window, narrowly missing the defenders. The sheriff took a shot at a flitting figure but hit nothing. Everything was silent in the town, and there was no sign of help.

Harry said little. His blood had begun to cool, and he had painful thought. If the affair went on, it was likely that at least a half dozen men would be killed, and it would be a deep disgrace to the state that he loved so much. The jail was of logs, and, as a last resort, the Logsdons could, and probably would, burn it. The whole situation seemed to him intolerable. But an idea leaped up at last, and he believed that he saw a way.

“Mr. Hunter,” he said to the jailer, “there is a back way out of the jail, is there not?”

“Yes, through the garden.”

“And what is back of the garden?”

“Woods.”

“Good.”

Harry turned to the sheriff.

“Mr. Bosley,” he said, “we want to save the prisoner and we want to prevent bloodshed. I’ve a plan. Suppose you let Mr. Kidd and me take Parker, slip out the back way and make for Groveton.”

“Have you got the nerve to try it?” asked the Sheriff.

“I wouldn’t have proposed it if I hadn’t.”

The sheriff looked at him admiringly.

“I knew you were all right, but I just asked to hear you say so. Where do you propose to get horses?”

“At Mr. Arnold’s. Judge Braxton is there. He is Parker’s lawyer, and he has a right to act for him. I think we can slip away, and after we’ve got a good start, you can let the Logsdons into the jail.”

“Good business,” said the sheriff. “That’s a great head of yours, Mr. Beauchamp, but be keerful, mighty keerful.”

The jailer brought Parker who was willing, even glad, to go. He had an almost superstitious fear of the Logsdons, and he was quite sure that they would take the jail. He preferred to be anywhere else. The rear door was opened and Harry, Kidd and Parker, Parker in the center, slipped quietly out. They passed into the garden and crouched behind some sticks that had been used as supports for pea vines. They heard nothing but the wind and light drip of the rain, and Harry was sure that all the Logsdons were gathered on the other side of the jail.

“Now, boys,” he whispered, “stoop low and come on. The moment we gain the woods we’re safe for the present.”

It took them only a minute to cross the garden and then they came to a low fence. Harry was devoutly thankful now for the shielding darkness. They dropped down in the woods, lay there a while, breathing heavily, and then circled toward the Arnold house. They entered the lawn, which contained much shrubbery, and passed safely to the side of the building. They saw no light, except at one window, where the shutter was closed but partially.

Hardening himself to all risks, Harry knocked gently at the lighted window. The shutter was instantly thrown up, and a feminine voice asked who was there. The face of Cynthia, white and strained, appeared in the light.

“It is Harry, Harry Beauchamp,” whispered Harry. “Tom Kidd is here too, and we have Ed Parker with us.”

“Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed. “We heard that the Logsdons had attacked the jail, and that you and Tom were inside. Mr. Arnold and Cousin John are holding father now to keep him from going there and getting killed.”

“We want horses, Cynthia,” said Harry in a hurried whisper. “Three good ones. Tell them to get them ready as quick as they can while we lie hidden in the bushes. A half hour’s start and we’ll snap out fingers at all the Logsdons. Now, be quickl Cynthia, and use that sharp mind of yours.”

Cynthia Braxton acted with speed and decision. Instantly she closed sash and shutter that no light might appear, and, inside of two minute, the Arnolds were in the stable saddling the horses. Cynthia, light of foot, and eager of mind and eye, insisted on going with them, and hurried the work. As the horses were led out she looked toward the jail. But it was too far away. She could neither see nor hear anything there. Then she ran back to the shrubbery on the lawn, and called softly to the three who lay in hiding there.

Harry, Kidd and Parker mounted in the darkness.

“God bless you, boys!” said Judge Braxton to Harry and Tom. “You are saving an honest man’s life and you are saving the state a great shame.”

“Ride hard,” whispered Cynthia to Harry, as she put her hand in his. “You still have the pistol, haven’t you?”

His hand closed tightly over hers, as he whispered in reply, “Yes, I have it.”

Then they rode softly down a side street and entered the Groveton road. Some one standing in the woods saw them, uttered a shout and fired a rifle at them. Harry instantly drew his pistol and discharged it at the flash. But they saw the man running away. Then, urging their horses, they galloped toward Groveton.

None of the three spoke for a long time. After the first joyous surge Harry felt a sinking of the spirit. He, the peacemaker, the preacher of brotherly love, had been the first to fire back when the man discharged the rifle at them. To what was he coming? But that feeling passed in its turn as they went on, hour after hour. The rain had ceased and the night now was quite light. They had no trouble in seeing their way. After a while, they eased their horses down to a walk, knowing that they need fear pursuit no longer.

Early the next morning they rode into Groveton and went straight to the jail, where Harry said to the surprised jailer:

“We’ve ”brought you a prisoner, Mr. Shafer. Please take good care of him.”

“Why, it’s Ed Parker!” exclaimed Shafer.

“So it is,” said Harry. “We obtained a change of venue for him about 10 o’clock last night, and his case is going to be tried in Groveton.”

Shafer looked at them keenly. “What was the trouble?” he asked.

“Parker was about to be cleared, and the Logsdons undertook to lynch him. They didn’t succeed, because here he is!”

“I’ll take good care of him,” said Shafer, and Parker uttered a sigh of relief as he went behind the solid stone walls of the Groveton Jail. Harry and Kidd went away for breakfast and sleep afterward.

Judge Braxton and Cynthia arrived the next day and the case was promptly transferred to Groveton. The Logsdons fled deep into the hills, where they succeeded in evading capture.

Cynthia went back to Louisville to finish her school, leaving behind a great sense of emptiness, and the case of Ed Parker was speedily retried at Groveton. Then, after evidence was taken anew, the Judge made a most impassioned speech to the jury. He told of the deadly danger and terror that always hung over Parker, and he appealed to the mind of every juryman with some homely simile, some simple truth that would stir emotion. He did not talk over their heads. It was a Groveton man speaking to Groveton men, and dealing with Groveton life. The jury, after being out only half an hour, returned with a verdict of acquittal on the ground of self defense.

Harry was in the crowded courtroom when the case was concluded and the man released. He felt the effect of the speech himself. He too was a Groveton man—he had lived all his life there—and despite his efforts to be judicial his emotions were stirred.

The verdict returned, Parker, tears in his eyes, shook hands with Judge Braxton again and again, and then came over to Harry and thanked him too.

“I owe you my life, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said, “and I won’t ever forget it.”

“No, you don’t owe me anything,” said Harry in a sudden revulsion, and he thoroughly meant it.

“I won’t ever forget it,” continued Parker, not noticing Harry’s manner. That night he left for Oklahoma, and a few weeks later Harry received a personal letter from him, enclosing the money for a year’s subscription to the Herald. “I’ll always take the Herald,” he wrote. Harry turned the money into the cash drawer, and gravely had the subscription entered.

The case, owing to Harry’s campaign and the attempted lynching, attracted much attention throughout the state. Its general effect, as he clearly saw, was to bring the Herald into greater notice. A perceptible increase in circulation took place and the Herald became more distinct and characteristic than ever. The increase of fame also brought more advertising.

All these circumstances put new thoughts into his mind, or rather, revived old ones. He stood so long one day before the rickety old press that he had bought with the ancient weekly that Jim steptoe’s attention was attracted. Jim had recently been acquiring polish. His red whiskers had been trimmed and combed, and he wore a new suit of plaid clothes. The intellectual life flourished apace in his soul, and, as nearly as he could, he imitated the attitude and manners of Harry Beauchamp. Now he followed his employer’s gaze, and, like him, looked long and thoughtfully at the old press.

“She does wheeze, Mr. Beauchamp,” he said at last, “and she shorely wheezes loud, but she gets there all the same.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “that old press is living on borrowed time. Jim, do you suppose that some day it will suddenly quit and fall into a heap, just a mass of old iron?”

Mr. Steptoe pondered the question.

“It ’pears to me pow’ful likely that it’ll do it some day,” he replied thoughtfully. “Them things that hold on past their time gen’ally go in a heap when they do go.”

“Jim,” said Harry, “how would you like to have a new press, going like lightning, all polished steel and copper and brass, as strong as a steamship, but as delicate and responsive as a lady’s pulse, turning out ten thousand paper a minute, and with a colored supplement attachment or something of that kind?”

Mr. Steptoe’s eyes shone.

“How would I like it?” he gasped. “How would I like it? Why, it’s the very thing I want!”

“Then you can want on. You won’t get it.”

Jim’s face fell.

“Why do you take a fellow up so high and then let him drop?” he asked reproachfully.

Harry laughed.

“It was just what I wanted myself,” he replied, “and I won’t get it, either, at least, not now. But Jim, there is hope. I see the shadow of that press, away off there now, hovering about, low down on the horizon.”

He pointed, but Jim’s eyes following his finger saw only the wall.

“I can see only the things as is,” he said, “I hope to be an intellectual man, Mr. Beauchamp, but I don’t aspire to be no poet.”

Harry laughed again, and returned to his planning. He might buy a fine new press, but it meant a big sum, that is, a big sum for him. The balance of his receipts over his expenditures had grown larger, and the manufacturers would be willing enough to sell to him for a cash payment and a lien on the press for the rest. The growth of the Herald called unceasingly for new facilities, but he hated the idea of more debt. He decided to seek advice.

He took from the safe five hundred dollars, the accumulations of the last two months and trod the accustomed road to the First National Bank. Mr. Lucas was, as usual, in his inner office meditating, and Harry thrust the roll of bills at him.

“Another payment,” he said. “It’s five hundred.”

A “broad smile traced its way across the expanse of Mr. Lucas’s face.

“That roll certainly looks good,” he said, “but I’m beginning to be afraid I won’t own the Herald, as I once thought I would. Do you know, Harry, I’ve laid awake nights, picturing myself in the role of a great editor. How do you think I’d suit?”

“I think you make a better banker.”

Christopher Lucas laughed. Evidently he was pleased.

“Maybe,” he said, “but I’m sorry all those fine dreams of mine have gone glimmering.”

“Perhaps I can give you another chance,” said Harry, who thought he saw his opening. “I’m thinking of a new investment.”

“Ah,” said Christopher Lucas, “I’m guessing that you want more money.”

Instantly he was all shrewdness, watching Harry out of his keen little eyes.

“Yes,” said Harry, “I do. I’m growing, and I’ve got to have a bigger suit of clothes. I’ve a good prospect. You know that, Mr. Lucas. You know just how I stand. But it must be nursed. I’ve been printing the Herald on a press that may go to pieces at any moment. I want a new one, but I don’t want to give the maker a lien on it.”

“Meaning that you would prefer me?”

“You and your bank.”

“How much would a new press cost?”

“I could get one that will run off fifteen hundred papers an hour for two thousand dollars, but I want one of much higher grade. There’s a press for eight thousand dollars that’s a gem.”

Mr. Lucas puckered his lips, and uttered a slow, deliberate whistle.

“Eight thousand dollars for a press! Harry, such a thing would make Groveton hold its breath.”

“I know it, but it’s the business of the Herald to make Groveton hold its breath. I won’t want the press delivered before the first of July and I can pay a thousand down on it then, perhaps fifteen hundred, and you can take a mortgage for the remainder.”

Christopher Lucas rubbed his large hands, and his little eyes twinkled.

“And what do you think is my chance of owning the press and becoming an editor?”

“None at all. The Herald is too firmly rooted. I’ll pay for that press, as surely as I live.”

The gaze of the old man and the gaze of the young man met. Mr. Lucas, despite his rustic manners and appearance, was a keen judge of character, that is, of character in the world in which he lived. Having this quality he was a successful banker, and nothing had shaken his faith in Harry Beauchamp.

“I’ll let you have the money,” he said.

Harry was not effusive. He uttered his thanks simply and said:

“I’m going to buy this press in New York. If you’ll put the money to my credit I shall start day after tomorrow.”

Mr. Lucas agreed, and Harry walked back to his office, building castles, not in Spain but in Kentucky, all the way. The Herald’s growth could not continue at a great rate, unless the territory around it grew, but his faith in Groveton was implicit. The oil and coal, abundant and of high quality, were in the hills; Tom Kidd’s railroad would certainly reach them and bring wealth to Groveton. To the south and west stretched the mighty Dark Tobacco region, the center and heart of the world’s tobacco production. “Nothing can keep Groveton down!” he said to himself with all the sanguine hope of youth and courage. Harry was very young, and he entered his office with a skip and jump. Mr. Steptoe, who was making a grave perambulation with a feather duster, looked up in surprise.

“We get it, Jim, we get it!” exclaimed Harry, clapping his hand upon his assistant’s shoulder.

“Get what, Mr. Beauchamp?”

“That press! a gorgeous beauty, and a hummer! All shiny steel and brass and copper, or maybe silver-plated, turning out every day a hundred thousand copies of the finest newspaper on earth! I was fooling you, Jim, when I said we’d never get it. We do get it, just as soon as I can go to New York and buy it.”

Jim’s face had twisted at first into an incredulous stare, but it finally broke up into a covey of little smiles, which, gradually gathered together into one huge, aggregate grin.

“You ain’t joshing me, Mr. Beauchamp?”

“Never a josh. I start day after tomorrow, and in the summer the Herald will be run off the finest press in the State, outside of Louisville.”

Mr. Steptoe’s figure swelled and grew.

“An’ I shall get another new suit of clothes in honor of our prosperity an’ dignity,” he said.

Harry was full of exuberance when he went home to dinner. His Aunt Emma was there. She had gone on a visit to a farm of hers in February, but returned in two weeks, saying that her brother-in-law and nephew needed her care. Harry was delighted, but avowed his belief that she was looking for a husband in Groveton. “Do you think a woman of my age would want to give up her freedom?” she asked with asperity. She quietly resumed the management of the Beauchamp place, and life went on very smoothly there.

Tonight as Harry ate his supper—it was still called supper in Groveton—and flung jests at his father and aunt, she surveyed him with a critical eye.

“What has happened?” she asked. “Have you got a new subscriber or has the old one renewed?”

“Neither,” said Harry; “I start for New York Wednesday morning.”

“New York!” exclaimed Mr. Beauchamp. To a man who travelled but little and never far, New York seemed half across the world. “What for?”

“Not to stay,” replied Harry. “Don’t worry about that, Father. I’m planted deep in Groveton, and I’ve got to grow or wither here. I go there to buy the finest press in the New World, in order that I may print on it the vast and leaping circulation of the Herald.”

Mr. Beauchamp was a little frightened at the venture, but Mrs. Leroy approved.

“If you get any at all, Harry,” she said, “get a good one. A Mason ought not to put up with a second rate affair.”

“Nor a Beauchamp, either,” said Harry, laughing.

He started, at the time he had set, on his great journey, and from the platform of the rear car he looked back at Groveton. Winter was breaking up, and the earth bore the first delicate touch of young spring. A faint shadowy green was beginning to appear through the dead grass of last year. A wind, born somewhere about the Gulf, had a grateful touch of warmth.

Harry surveyed Groveton with pride. It was the improvements, the growth that appealed particularly to him. The casual traveller would have noticed nothing in the outskirts but unfinished buildings, and ground broken for new ones, and probably would have called it ugly. But it was not so to Harry. He looked beyond the ragged earth and the rough timbers. He saw vitality, strength, hope, prosperity, the busy and happy life of an important and growing town. “Good old Groveton!” he said to himself.

He had not told his father and aunt of his intention, but he stopped in Louisville, and while there, with the kind permission of Miss Payson, at whose select academy Miss Braxton was a favorite pupil, he took Cynthia to see a play.

He had thought little of the play to which they were going. He knew only that it was at the best theatre in the city, but it proved to be a melodrama, drawn from a famous novel by a famous French author. The scene was Corsica and then Paris. It dealt with revenge, a brother avenging the death of a brother, and in the play it all seemed cohesive, logical and fitting. Harry, from the very beginning of the first act, was conscious of a deep and absorbing interest. He scarcely noticed it then, but there was something strangely familiar to him in the talk and the motives. He understood the impulses of these people, he knew why they did what they did, and, for two acts, he was in thorough accord with them, wishing what they wished. Then his mind rebelled. The time for such things—if ever that time had been—had passed. Convincing as it seemed in the atmosphere created for it, the law must prevail.

He glanced at Cynthia. She, also, was not much used to the theatre, and all that she saw fell upon a fresh and appreciative mind. Her face was flushed and her eyes sparked with interest, and continuous approval.

“You see what is coming?” said Harry.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she replied. “All will be made even in the end. It is foreshadowed.”

“But not made even in the right way,” said Harry.

“Why, what other way could there be?” she asked in surprise.

Harry said nothing. It seemed to him, at that moment, that he could not make any adequate reply, and presently the play moved on to its predestined end. Vengeance was done by the brother, and art and the audience were satisfied. Harry, although he struggled against it, also felt that sense of satisfaction.

He and Cynthia left slowly with the crowd. Their minds were full of the play, and neither wished to speak just then. Soon they were outside, walking down the street in the moonlight that was pouring melted silver over all the city. It was not far to Miss Payson’s and they did not take a car. Presently they left the crowd behind them, and Harry said:

“It was bad; it ought not to have ended that way.”

“I think it was the only way in which it should have ended,” said Cynthia. “Being what he was, and with his birth and associations, what else could he have done? It was ordained from the first that he should do what he did.”

Harry was silent, again not knowing what to say. He did not like to hear her talk in that manner, but it was very natural that she should. They were now at Miss Payson’s, and it was incumbent upon him to return her at once to the charge of that fastidious lady. He had already told Cynthia that he was going to New York to buy a new press. He would have liked to stop again at Miss Payson’s on his return, but he did not dare. So he told her good-bye at the door, as a stout woman-servant admitted her, and hastened away to his hotel.

The second morning thereafter Harry was in New York, his first visit to the first city of the world, but one destined to have s great influence upon his life. He bought his press, a beautiful, high-powered, polished machine that would make Jim Steptoe’s heart bound with joy, and then he decided that it would be well worth his while to spend a few days in experience.

New York, from the first, made a tremendous impression upon him. When he crossed the ferry from Jersey City it seemed to rise out of the earth a mighty rampart of stone and brick, grim and insurmountable. It was a veritable gateway, through which all the white nations were pouring in haste to take possession of the best and most fertile of the continents. He was conscious that all around him was a city, thunderous, big-limbed and polyglot.

Harry did not know that under all the clamor the great city was serenely and mightily American, and that in the moment of danger the republican genius would triumphantly take the helm. Yet he liked New York, and he resolved to visit it at least once a year throughout his life, it seemed to him a spring that would always bring fresh vigor, if one drank from it temperately.

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