bush, come
to think it over, that matter came up for trial, and we concluded the
best thing to do was to sort of let things take their course--you see,
the young man in all likelihood will leave town very soon. In the
conduct of my own affairs I sometimes have seen that it is well enough
not to stir things up. Leave them alone, and sometimes they will smooth
themselves down."

"Then you wouldn't run him in if you was me?"

"No, I think not, I think not. Let it go for the time. Perhaps there may
be further developments, but with such information as I have at hand
now, I would be disposed to approve your conduct. There's nothing like
letting bygones be bygones in this world--isn't that the truth?"

"But now, about the eejit, Johnnie," resumed the city marshal once more,
reaching out his hand still to detain the other, "I don't know as I done
right about him, neither."

"What have you done then, Tarbush?"

"Well, I let him go. You see, I don't know but maybe the _habeas chorus_
proceedings would be squashed like the rest. Besides, the eejit boy has
been raising all kinds of hell down at the jail, raving and shouting and
threatening me. About a hour ago or less I concluded to let him loose,
so as to get shut of him."

"You did let him go? And he was not discharged?"

"Well, now, what's the difference, Judge," said the old man. "We
couldn't really get no sleep down there, he was making so much fuss, so
I just let him out. He lit out upon the street right thataway, towards
home--not so very long ago."

Judge Henderson gazed moodily in the direction to which Tarbush pointed.

"Well," said he, "maybe you did right, and in any case this isn't the
time and place to discuss it. My professional hours"--and he turned away
and walked slowly up the stairs to his own office, intent upon the
purpose already prominent in his mind.

The arc light illumined fully the great town clock in the cupola of the
courthouse. The hands pointed to a quarter of one, after midnight.

The deliberations of the jury of Spring Valley might have been said to
have concluded at the time when Aurora Lane, her son Don, and old Hod
Brooks--the last group of the slow procession--themselves turned the
corner and emerged upon the public square. The matter of bringing in the
verdict was another affair.

CHAPTER VIII

THE EXTRAORDINARY HORACE BROOKS

Something made Aurora Lane uneasy. She turned now and extended her hand
to the tall man who