for the Eureka Ditch Company _versus_ the State of
California. On his strictly legal performances in this issue I prefer
not to speak; there were those who denied them, although the jury had
accepted them in the face of the ruling of the half-amused,
half-cynical Judge himself. For an hour they had laughed with the
Colonel, wept with him, been stirred to personal indignation or
patriotic exaltation by his passionate and lofty periods--what else
could they do than give him their verdict? If it was alleged by some
that the American eagle, Thomas Jefferson, and the Resolutions of '98
had nothing whatever to do with the contest of a ditch company over a
doubtfully worded legislative document; that wholesale abuse of the
State Attorney and his political motives had not the slightest
connection with the legal question raised--it was, nevertheless,
generally accepted that the losing party would have been only too glad
to have the Colonel on their side. And Colonel Starbottle knew this,
as, perspiring, florid, and panting, he rebuttoned the lower buttons
of his blue frock-coat, which had become loosed in an oratorical
spasm, and readjusted his old-fashioned, spotless shirt frill above it
as he strutted from the court-room amidst the hand-shakings and
acclamations of his friends.

And here an unprecedented thing occurred. The Colonel absolutely
declined spirituous refreshment at the neighboring Palmetto Saloon,
and declared his intention of proceeding directly to his office in the
adjoining square. Nevertheless the Colonel quitted the building alone,
and apparently unarmed except for his faithful gold-headed stick,
which hung as usual from his forearm. The crowd gazed after him with
undisguised admiration of this new evidence of his pluck. It was
remembered also that a mysterious note had been handed to him at the
conclusion of his speech--evidently a challenge from the State
Attorney. It was quite plain that the Colonel--a practised
duellist--was hastening home to answer it.

But herein they were wrong. The note was in a female hand, and simply
requested the Colonel to accord an interview with the writer at the
Colonel's office as soon as he left the court. But it was an
engagement that the Colonel--as devoted to the fair sex as he was to
the "code"--was no less prompt in accepting. He flicked away the dust
from his spotless white trousers and varnished boots with his
handkerchief, and settled his black cravat under his Byron