e he'd help you if the two of you could get together."

"A lawyer should not have to be his own process-server," was the retort
of offended dignity.

"No--neither ought a judge." Renshaw took the cigar from his mouth and
studied it. Then he spoke slowly:

"Mr. Sidney, there's nothing further I can do, but--put it on whatever
ground you like--I'll make a suggestion. I'm beginning to doubt if
Kinnard Towers is going to remain supreme here much longer. I think his
power is on the wane. If you will make a motion to swear me off the
bench for the duration of these proceedin's--and can persuade the
governor to send a special judge and prosecutor here--I'll gladly
vacate. Then you can bring your soldier boys and see what that will
effect. That's the best satisfaction I can give you--but if I were you,
since you have no patience with men that consider personal risks--I'd
talk with this Stacy first. Of course, Kinnard Towers won't like that."

Mr. Sidney rose, piqued at the suggestion of timidity, into a sudden
announcement. "Very well," he said, "I'll ride over there to Little
Slippery to-night--to hell with this bugaboo Towers!"

"If I lived as far away as you do," suggested the judge, "I might allow
myself to say, Amen to that sentiment."

Mr. Sidney did not, in point of fact, go that night, but he did a few
days later. Had he known it, he was safe enough. Kinnard Towers had no
wish just then to hurl a challenge into the teeth of the whole state by
harming a distinguished member of the metropolitan bar, but before
George Sidney started out, the Quarterhouse leader had knowledge of his
mission, and surmised that he would be sheltered at the house of Joel
Fulkerson.

When the lawyer arrived the old preacher was standing by the gate of
his yard with a letter in his hand, that had arrived a little while
before. It was from an anonymous writer and its message was this: "If
you aid the lawyer from Louisville, in any fashion whatsoever, or take
him into your house, it will cost you your life."

Brother Fulkerson had been wondering whether to confide to any one the
receipt of that threat. Heretofore factional bitterness had always
passed him by. Now he decided to dismiss the matter without alarming
his friends with its mention.

As he strode forward to welcome the stranger, he absently tore the
crumpled sheet of paper to bits and consigned it to the winds.

"I am George Sidney," announced the man who was sliding from his