the bar, when a man? came in. I noticed an
instant change in the landlord's countenance. He looked startled;
almost frightened. The man drew a small package from his pocket, and
after selecting a paper therefrom, presented it to Slade, who received
it with a nervous reluctance, opened, and let his eye fall upon the
writing within. I was observing him closely at the time, and saw his
countenance flush deeply. In a moment or two it became pale
again--paler even than before.

"Very well--all right. I'll attend to it," said the landlord, trying to
recover himself, yet swallowing with every sentence.

The man who was no other than a sheriff's deputy, and who gave him a
sober, professional look, then went out with a firm step, and an air of
importance. As he passed through the outer door, Slade retired from the
bar-room.

"Trouble coming," I heard the bar-keeper remark, speaking partly to
himself and partly with the view, as was evident from his manner, of
leading me to question him. But this I did not feel that it was right
to do.

"Got the sheriff on him at last," added the bar-keeper.

"What's the matter, Bill?" inquired a man who now came in with a
bustling, important air, and leaned familiarly over the bar. "Who was
Jenkins after?"

"The old man," replied the bar-keeper, in a voice that showed pleasure
rather than regret.

"No!"

"It's a fact." Bill, the bar-keeper, actually smiled.

"What's to pay?" said the man.

"Don't know, and don't care much." "Did he serve a summons or an
execution?"

"Can't tell."

"Judge Lyman's suit went against him."

"Did it?"

"Yes; and I heard Judge Lyman swear, that if he got him on the hip,
he'd sell him out, bag and basket. And he's the man to keep his word."

"I never could just make out," said the bar-keeper, "how he ever came
to owe Judge Lyman so much. I've never known of any business
transactions between them."

"It's been dog eat dog, I rather guess," said the man.

"What do you mean by that?" inquired the bar-keeper.

"You've heard of dogs hunting in pairs?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, since Harvey Green got his deserts, the business of fleecing our
silly young fellows, who happened to have more money than wit or
discretion, has been in the hands of Judge Lyman and Slade. They hunted
together, Slade holding the game, while the judge acted as
blood-sucker. But that business was interrupted about a year ago; and
game got so scarce that, as I suggested, dog bega