a seat
beside him and began twisting a greasy black mustache.

"You an' me's 'ficials," he said, with dignity, "an' we has burdens that
folks don't know. My burden is these here folks that shoots pa'tridges
in July; your burdens is them people who don't pay no road-tax."

"One o' them people is Dan McCloud, an' I'm goin' after that road-tax
to-night," said Byram.

"Can't you wait till I ketch McCloud with them birds?" asked the warden,
anxiously.

"No, I can't," snapped Byram; "I can't wait for no such thing!" But he
spoke without enthusiasm.

"Can't we make it a kind o' 'ficial surprise for him, then?" suggested
the warden. "Me an' you is 'ficials; your path-masters is 'ficials.
We'll all go an' see Dan McCloud, that's what we'll do. How many
path-masters hev you got to back you up?"

Byram's face grew red as fire.

"One," he said; "we ain't a metropolipus."

"Well, git your path-master an' come on, anyhow," persisted the
game-warden, rising and buttoning his faded coat.

"I--I can't," muttered Byram.

"Ain't you road-master?" asked Dingman, astonished.

"Yes."

"Then, can't you git your own path-master to do his dooty an' execoote
the statoots?"

"You see," stammered Byram, "I app'inted a--a lady."

"A what!" cried the game-warden.

"A lady," repeated Byram, firmly. "Tell the truth, we 'ain't got no
path-master; we've got a path-mistress--Elton's kid, you know--"

"Elton?"

"Yes."

"What hung hisself in his orchard?"

"Yes."

"His kid? The girl that folks say is sweet on Dan McCloud?"

A scowl crisped Byram's face.

"It's a lie," he said, thickly.

After a silence Byram spoke more calmly. "Old man Elton he didn't leave
her nothin'. She done chores around an' taught school some, down to Frog
Holler. She's that poor--nothin' but pertaters an' greens for to eat,
an' her a-savin' her money for to go to one o' them female institoots
where women learn to nurse sick folks."

"So you 'pinted her path-master to kinder he'p her along?"

"I--I kinder did."

"She's only a kid."

"Only a kid. 'Bout sixteen."

"An' it's against the law?"

"Kinder 'gainst it."

The game-warden pretended to stifle a yawn.

"Well," he said, petulantly. "I never knowed nothin' about it--if they
ask me over to Spencers."

"That's right! An' I'll he'p you do your dooty regardin' them
pa'tridges," said Byram, quickly. "Dan McCloud's a loafer an' no good.
When he's drunk he raises hell down to the store. Foxvi