s his vassal, he
received the key which unlocked the small study giving off from the
Circuit Court-room--the judge's chamber--now vacant and cobwebbed.

In this sanctum of the law's ostensible upholding, surrounded by
battered volumes of code and precedent, the man who was above the law
received first Jud White, the town marshal.

"I reckon sich a gatherin' of folks es this hyar sort of complicates
yore job, Jud," he began blandly. "I thought I ought to tell ye thet
Ratler Webb's broguein' round town gittin' fuller of licker an'
hostility every minute thet goes by."

The town marshal scowled with a joyless foreboding.

"Mebby," he tentatively mused, "hit moutn't be a bad idee ter clap him
in ther jail-house right now--afore he gits too pizen mean ter handle."

But with judicial forbearance Kinnard Towers shook his head. "No, I
wouldn't counsel ye ter do thet. Hit wouldn't be hardly lawful. I've
done instructed Black Tom Carmichael ter kinderly keep an eye on him."
After a moment he casually added: "Thar's bad blood betwixt Ratler an'
young Bear Cat Stacy. Hit would sarve a better purpose fer ye ter keep
a heedful watch on Bear Cat."

The town marshal's face fell. He felt that to him was being assigned a
greater share than his poor deserts in the matter of safe-guarding the
peace and dignity of the Commonwealth.

Towers caught the crestfallen frown and repressed a twinkle of
amusement.

"What's ther matter, Jud? Air ye a-settin' on carpet tacks?" he
inquired with even, good humor. "Or air ye jest plain skeered at ther
idee of contraryin' Bear Cat Stacy?"

"No, I hain't skeered of Bear Cat," lied the officer, reddening. "Ef he
breaches ther peace terday I aims ter jail him fer hit ther same es
anybody else." He paused, then broke out with fervor: "But he's a
mighty good man ter leave alone, Kinnard. He's ther best man ter leave
alone I ever met up with, an' thet's God's own blessed truth."

Towers laughed. "Well, son, I aims ter be kinderly keepin' in touch
with Bear Cat Stacy myself, an' ef any ruction rises a-tween ye, I'll
be thar ter straighten hit out. So, if need be,--why, jest treat him
like anybody else--as ye says--an' don't be narvous about hit."

Ten minutes after the dejected exit of Jud White, Mark Tapper, the
Revenuer, entered the front door of the Courthouse and shouldered his
way aggressively among loungers who eyed him with hostile
vindictiveness. Passing unchallenged between several rifle-be