d them. Nobody had ever
suggested that.

She spoke of the shame of jail; they had heretofore been rather proud of
it--all this seated there in the saddle, the light from the store lamp
shining full in her face; and they huddled there on the veranda, gaping
at her, stupefied.

Then she suddenly spoke of Burleson, praising him, endowing him with
every quality the nobility of her own mind could compass. She extolled
his patience under provocation, bidding them to match it with equal
patience. She bad them be men in the face of this Burleson, who was a
man; to display a dignity to compare with his; to meet him squarely, to
deal fairly, to make their protests to his face and not whisper crime
behind his back.

And that was all; she swung her mare off into the darkness; they
listened to the far gallop, uttering never a word. But when the last
distant hoof-stroke had ceased, Mr. Burleson's life and forests were
safe in the country. How safe his game was they themselves did not
exactly know.

That night Burleson walked into the store upon the commonplace errand of
buying a jack-knife. It was well that he did not send a groom; better
still when he explained, "one of the old-fashioned kind--the kind I used
as a school-boy."

"To whittle willow whistles," suggested old man Santry. His voice was
harsh; it was an effort for him to speak.

"That's the kind," said Burleson, picking out a one-blader.

Santry was coughing; presently Burleson looked around.

"Find swallowing hard?" he asked.

"Swallerin' ain't easy. I ketched cold."

"Let's see," observed Burleson, strolling up to him and deliberately
opening the old man's jaws, not only to Santry's astonishment, but to
the stupefaction of the community around the unlighted stove.

"Bring a lamp over here," said the young man.

Somebody brought it.

"Tonsilitis," said Burleson, briefly. "I'll send you something
to-night?"

"Be you a doctor?" demanded Santry, hoarsely.

"Was one. I'll fix you up. Go home; and don't kiss your little girl.
I'll drop in after breakfast."

Two things were respected in Fox Cross-roads--death and a
doctor--neither of which the citizens understood.

But old man Santry, struggling obstinately with his awe of things
medical, rasped out, "I ain't goin' to pay no doctor's bills fur a
cold!"

"Nobody pays me any more," said Burleson, laughing. "I only doctor
people to keep my hand in. Go home, Santry; you're sick."

Mr. Santry went, pausing