In his narrow little room upstairs in one of the two-story brick buildings which framed the public square of Spring Valley sat J. B. Blackman, Justice of the Peace, upholder of the majesty of the law. His throne was a knock-kneed, broken chair. In front of him stood a large scarred table, whereon rested the equipment of well-thumbed tomes which bolstered him in his administration of justice. In the room beyond stood a few scattered chairs, a long bench or two. On one wall, by way of ornament, was a steel engraving of Daniel Webster. On the opposite wall hung certain lithographs of political candidates of like party persuasion with Blackman himself, for this was a presidential year, and certain crises of political sort existed, among others the choosing of a Senator of the United States. Among lesser likenesses on Blackman's grimy wall loomed large the portrait of his party's candidate, to wit: the Honorable William Henderson, late County Attorney, late District Judge, late member of the Legislature, late candidate for Governor, late Chairman of the State Republican Committee; and by virtue of the death of the late incumbent in the office of United States senator, himself now present candidate for that lofty honor. Otherwise than as to these purposeful decorations the room had small adornment and appeared judicially austere.

The hour was mid-afternoon, but so swiftly had the news of recent events spread abroad in the little village that already the room of Justice of Peace Blackman was packed. Aurora Lane's baby—why, she had fooled everybody—her boy never had died at all—here he was—he had been through college—he'd been somewhere all the time and now he had come to life all at once, and had fought Eph Adamson and the eejit, and had been arrested and was going to be tried. Naturally, the stair leading to the Justice's office was lined, and sundry citizens were grouped about the bottom or under the adjacent awnings.

Much speculation existed as to the exact issue of the legal proceedings which, it seemed, had been instituted by old Eph Adamson. When that worthy appeared, escorted by the clerk of Judge Henderson's law office, room respectfully was made for the two, it being taken for granted that Judge Henderson would appear for Adamson, as he always had in earlier embroglios. Much greater excitement prevailed when presently there came none less than Tarbush, city marshal, followed by Don Lane and the two women. Then indeed all Spring Valley well-nigh choked of its own unsated curiosity.

They walked steadily, these three, staring ahead, following close after the marshal, who now officiously ordered room for himself and his charges. When they entered Blackman's court that worthy looked up, coughed solemnly, and resumed his occupation of poring over the legal authorities spread before him on the table. Don Lane made room for his mother and Miss Julia, and took his own place at the side of the marshal. The latter laid his hand upon his arm, as if to show the assembled multitude that he had no fear of his prisoner. Don shook off the hand impatiently.

Outside, unable to restrain themselves sufficiently to be seated within the room, old Kneebone and his friend Craybill walked up and down in the narrow hall—lined with signs of attorneys, real estate men, and insurance agents—from which made off the door of Blackman's office.

"They'll bind him over," said old Silas to his friend. "They'll do that shore."

"Bind who over, Silas," said Craybill. "You mean Old Man Adamson and his eejit, don't you? The eejit's arrested, anyhow. But what's it all about? You don't believe it's true this here is 'Rory's son, now do you? How can that come?"

"Well, I ain't saying," replied old Silas cryptically, and nodding only in the general direction of the door, "but you'll see."

Old Aaron helped himself to a chew of tobacco thoughtfully. "They say Old Eph has got his dander up now, and's going to make plenty of trouble all along the line. Reckon he's ashamed of his son being licked thataway by just a kid like this. Come to think of it, it looks like Eph ain't got much glory out of it so far, has he?"

"No, and I'll bet he had to dig up some money—the Judge, he likely wouldn't think of it for less'n fifteen dollars anyways. That's the price of a good shoat these days. If the case was appealed, or if it got into a court of nisy prisus, or maybe got over into another county on a change of venoo, you can bet Judge Henderson wouldn't be doing none of them things for nothing, neither. The law's all right for them that has plenty of money. Sometimes I think there's other ways."

"Huh," said his companion, "old Adamson tried the other way, didn't he? Now look at him! If I was Old Man Adamson, or if I was his eejit son either, the best thing we could do, seems to me, would be to get out of town. This here boy's a fighter, if I'm any judge. Wonder if it is her boy! If it is, whoever was his father, huh? And how was he kep' hid for more'n twenty year?"

"He looks sort of changed since a couple of hours ago," said his friend judicially. "He's quieter now—why, when he come into town he was just laughing and talking like a kid. Of course, he must have knew—he knows who his father is all right. Now, come to think of it, if this here boy had any money he could sue them Adamsons for deefamation of character."

"How comes it he could? I hear say that all Old Man Adamson said was to call him nobody's son, and that's true enough, if he's her boy. If you call the truth to a man, that ain't no deefamation of character. As to 'Rory Lane, everybody knows the truth about her. You can't deefame a woman nohow, least of all her. We all know she had a baby when she was a girl, and it was sent away, and it died. Leastways, we thought we knew. I ain't right shore what we've knew. It looks like that woman had put up some sort of game on this town. What right had she to do that?"

"She was right white," said the other, somewhat irrelevantly. "Never seen no one no whiter than she was when she went in that door right now."

"I don't reckon we can get no seats any more—the room's plumb full."

They both were looking wistfully in at the packed assembly, when they had occasion to make room for the dignified figure of a man who now pushed his way through the throng.

"How do, Judge Henderson," said old Silas Kneebone, who knew everybody.

The newcomer nodded somewhat coldly. He nodded also, none too warmly, to another man who stood near the door—a tall man, of loose and bulky figure, with a fringe of red beard under his chin, a wide and smiling mouth, blue eyes, and a broad face which showed shrewdness and humor alike.

"How are you, Hod?" said Henderson carelessly; thus accosting the only man at the Spring Valley bar for whom really he had much respect or fear—Horace Brooks, popularly known in Spring Valley as "old Hod Brooks," perhaps the most carelessly dressed man physically and the most exactly appointed man mentally then practising before that bar. A little sign far down the narrow hall betokened that the office of Horace Brooks might thereabouts be found by any in search of counsel in the law.

"Oh, are you retained in this case, Hod?" Judge Hendenson spoke over his shoulder.

"Not at all, Judge, not at all," said the other. None the less he himself followed on into the crowded little room.

As Judge Henderson entered all eyes were turned upon him. Conscious of the fact that he honored this assemblage, he comported himself with dignity proper for a candidate. He was a man well used to success in any undertaking, and he looked his part now. The full, florid face, the broad brow, sloping back to a ridge of iron-gray hair, the full blue eyes, the loose, easy lips, the curved chin, the large, white hands, the full chest, the soft body, the reddening skin of the face—all of these offered good index to the character of William Henderson. Lawyer, judge, politician and leading citizen—he was the type of these things, the village CÆsar, and knew well enough the tribute due to CÆsar.

A few eyes turned from the adequate figure of Judge Henderson to the loose and shambling form of the man who edged in to the front of the table. Rumor had it that in the early times, twenty years or more ago, Judge Henderson had come to that city with a single law book under his arm as his sole capital in his profession. Old Hod Brooks had made his own advent in precisely similar fashion, belated much in life by reason of his having to work his way through school. Since then his life had been one steady combat, mostly arrayed against Henderson himself. Perhaps it might have been said that they two from the first were rivals for the leading place at the local bar, little as Henderson himself now cared for that. He was well intrenched, and all opponents, such as this shambling giant with the red beard and nondescript carriage, must attack in the open.

Judge Blackman coughed ominously once more. "Order in the court!" he intoned, pounding on the table in front of him.

There was a general shuffling and scraping of chairs. Those standing seated themselves so far as was possible. Judge Henderson alone stood for a time in front of the table of Justice Blackman. The afternoon was very warm, but he represented the full traditions of his profession, for he appeared in long black coat, white waistcoat, and folded collar, tied with a narrow white tie. In some way he had the appearance of always being freshly laundered. His fresh pink cheeks were smooth and clean, his hands were immaculate as his linen. One might have said that at one time in his life he had been a handsome man, a fine young man in his earlier days, and that he still was "well preserved."

Not so much might have been said of old Hod Brooks, who had slumped into a seat close to Tarbush and his prisoner. That worthy wore an alpaca coat, a pair of trousers which shrieked of the Golden Eagle Clothing Store, no waistcoat at all, and it must be confessed, no collar at all, beyond a limp strip of wilted linen decorated by no cravat whatever.

As he sat now Brooks suddenly cast a keen, curious gaze upon the face of the young defendant who sat at the left of the city marshal—a gaze which, passing at length, rested steadily, intently, on the face of Aurora Lane, who sat, icy pale, staring straight in front of her. Her left hand lay in that of Miss Julia Delafield. The eyes of the latter—whose face was flushed, as was usual with her in any time of mental emotion—remained fixed upon the man who was to prosecute this boy, whose life was linked so closely with her own.

The great lawyer seemed not to see these women at all, and at first cast no glance whatever at the defendant. The whole thing was rather trivial for him; for although his fee really had been five hundred dollars—in form of a note from Ephraim Adamson secured by a certain mortgage on certain live stock—he knew well enough he honored Adamson and this court by appearing here in a mere Justice trial.

"Order in the court!" said Blackman once more. "The case coming on for trial is City of Spring Valley on the complaint of Ephraim Adamson against Dewdonny Lane." At this bold declaration of what had been a half credited secret to Spring Valley, all Spring Valley now straightened and sat up, expectant. A sort of sigh, half a murmur of intense curiosity went over the audience. It was indeed a great day for Spring Valley. "Lane—Dewdonny Lane." So he was the son of Aurora Lane—and had no family name for his own!

Justice Blackman paused and looked inquiringly at the battered visage of old Eph Adamson. He coughed hesitatingly. "I understand this case is one of assault and battery. I believe, Judge Henderson, that you represent the plaintiff in this case?"

"Yes, your Honor," said Judge Henderson slowly, turning his full eye upon the court from its late resting place upon the campaign portrait of himself as it appeared on the wall. "I have consented to be of such service as I may in the case. Mr. Ephraim Adamson, our well-known friend here, is ready for the trial of the cause now, as I understand. I may say further, your Honor, that there will be a writ of habeas corpus sued out in due course demanding the body of the son of Ephraim Adamson, who is wrongfully restrained of his liberty at present in our city jail.

"As for this defendant——" Judge Henderson turned and cast an insolently inquiring eye upon the young man at the side of the town marshal.

"Who appears for the defendant?" demanded Judge Blackman austerely, casting a glance upon the prisoner at the bar.

Don Lane arose, half hesitatingly. "Your Honor," said he, "I presume I am the defendant in this case, although I hardly know what it's all about. I haven't any lawyer—I don't know anybody here—I'm just in town. All this has come on me very suddenly, and I haven't had time to look around. I don't see how I am guilty of anything——"

"Your Honor," said he, "I presume I am the defendant in this case."

Just then arose the soft and kindly tones of a large voice which easily filled all the room. Old Hod Brooks half rose.

"Your Honor," said he, "it isn't customary for a member of the bar to offer his services unsolicited. I would say, however, that if the Court desires to appoint me as counsel for this young man I will do the best I can for him, since he seems a stranger here and unprepared for a defense at law. If there were any other younger lawyer here I would not suggest this course to your Honor—indeed, I have no right to do so now. I trust, however,"—and he smiled at Judge Henderson at the other end of the table—"that my learned brother will not accuse me of champerty, maintenance, or any other offense against my office as a servant of justice in this community. Of course, I may add, your Honor"—he turned to Justice Blackman again—"that in such circumstances my own services, such as they are, would be rendered entirely free of charge."

People wondered, turning curious looks on the big, gaunt speaker thus suddenly offering himself as champion in a rÔle evidently unpopular.

Justice Blackman hesitated, and cast again a glance of query at Judge Henderson, on whom he much relied in all decisions. The latter waved a hand of impatient assent, and began to whisper with his clerk.

"The Court will allow this procedure," said Justice Blackman. "Does the defendant accept Mr. Brooks as counsel?"

Don Lane, embarrassed and somewhat red of face, half rose again, meeting full the fascinated, absorbed look on the face of Hod Brooks—a look which the keen eye of Henderson also saw. He puckered a lip and frowned estimatingly. Rumor said that Old Hod Brooks was going to come out as candidate for U. S. Senator on the opposing ticket. Henderson began now to speculate as to what he could do with Hod Brooks, if ever they should meet on the hustings. He studied him now as a boxer, none too certain of himself, studies his antagonist when he strips and goes to his corner opposite in the ring.

"Your Honor," said Don, "I don't know this gentleman, but what he says seems to me most kind. I surely shall be glad to have his assistance now." He did not look at his mother's face, did not see the quick look with which Hod Brooks turned from him to her.

"Does my learned brother require time for preparation of his case?" inquired Judge Henderson sarcastically. "I will agree to a brief recess of the Court in such case."

"Oh, not at all, not at all," said Old Hod Brooks. "I know all about this case, better than my learned brother does. Not having any special interest in anything but this case—that is to say, not any alien interest, political or otherwise—I am ready to go to trial right now to defend this young man. If Judge Henderson will move his chair so he can get a better look at his own picture on the wall, I don't see but what we might as well begin the trial."

Certain smiles passed over the faces of a few in the audience as they saw the quick flush spring to the face of Judge Henderson. The chief delight in life of Old Hod Brooks was to bait his learned brother by some such jibes as this, whenever the fortunes of the law brought them together on opposing sides.

Judge Henderson coughed. "Your Honor," said he hastily, "I am glad that in the course of justice this young man has secured counsel—even counsel such as that of my learned brother—who also, I am informed, is not beyond aspirations of a political nature. I have no time for idle jests. If the defense is ready I may perhaps state briefly what we propose to prove."

"By criminy!" whispered Silas to Aaron at the hall door, peering in. "By criminy! I believe Old Hod's got him rattled right now!"

But Judge Henderson pulled himself together. He now assumed his regular oratorical position, an eye upon his audience.

"Your Honor," he said, "this case is very plain and simple. The quiet of our city has been violated by this young man, who has publicly assaulted one of our best-known citizens."

"Which one do you mean?" interrupted Hod Brooks, most unethically, and smiling behind his hand. "Which do you mean, the old drunkard or the young idiot?"

"Order in the court!" rapped Blackman, as still further smiles and shufflings became apparent at the rear of the room. Judge Henderson went on, flushing yet more.

"My client, your Honor," he said, "was standing peacefully in the public square, accompanied by his son. They were beaten up, both of them, by this young man who has been brought into this court by our properly constituted officer of the law. Without any provocation whatever, this defendant inflicted great personal injury upon my client."

"We will make Eph's face 'Exhibit A,' and let it go into evidence," smiled Hod Brooks amicably; and the audience smiled and shuffled yet more.

"As to the unlawful detention of the son of my client," resumed Judge Henderson, beet-red now, "we have chosen the remedy of habeas corpus rather than a simple discharge, because we wish to bring before our people the full enormity of the offense which has been committed here in the public view, actually upon the grounds of our temple of justice. We shall show——"

"Your Honor," interrupted old Hod Brooks at this point, half rising, "if this were a political gathering indeed, and not the trial of a cause in a justice court, I would rise to a point of order. As it is, I rise to a point of law."

"State your point," said Justice Blackman.

"We are trying, as I understand it, the case of this defendant, Dewdonny Lane, accused by this plaintiff, Ephraim Adamson, of assault and battery?"

Justice Blackman nodded gravely.

"Then why does my learned brother speak of habeas corpus in this case, and what is the case which he is trying, or thinks he is trying? What is his evidence going to be? And why does he not get on?"

"Your Honor," blazed Henderson, "I shall not endure this sort of thing."

"Oh, yes, you will, my learned brother," said Hod Brooks, still smiling gently. If Henderson had other resources, he needed them now, for keenly enough he sensed himself as slipping in this battle of wits before assembled electors; and it really was politics alone that had brought him here—he scented a crowd afar off. He now lost his temper utterly.

"If the Court will excuse us for a brief moment of recess," said he savagely, "I should like to ask the privilege of a brief personal consultation with the attorney for the defense. If he will retire with me for just a moment I'll make him eat his words! After that we can better shape these proceedings."

The blue eye that Hod Brooks turned upon his opponent was calmly inquiring, but wholly fearless. On the other hand, some sudden idea seemed to strike him now. He resolved to change his tactics. He was shrewd enough to know that, irritated beyond a certain point, Henderson would fight his case hard; and Hod Brooks did not want to lose this case.

Henderson, with a little wave of the hand, his face livid in anger, edged away from the table of the Justice of the Peace. Hod Brooks followed him out into the hall.

"Order in the court!" intoned the Justice yet again. There was a rush toward the door. "There now, go back, men," said Hod Brooks, raising a hand. "There's not going to be any fight. Let us two alone—we want to talk, that's all."

Don Lane looked steadily at the face of Justice Blackman. Aurora Lane stared ahead, still icy pale, her hand clasped in that of Miss Julia's. She felt, rather than saw, the gazes of all these others boring into her very soul. Here were her enemies—here in what had been her home. It seemed an hour to her before at length those standing about the door shuffled apart to allow the two forensic enemies to reËnter, though really it had not been above ten minutes. Neither man bore any traces of personal combat. The face of Judge Henderson was a shade triumphant—strangely enough, since now he was to admit his own defeat.

"I tell you, I heard the whole business," said old Silas later on to his crony, who owned to a certain defect in one ear in hot weather such as this. "I heard the whole business. There wasn't no fight at all—not that neither of them seemed a bit a-scared. Hod, he raises a hand, and that made the Judge slow down.

"'It's what you might expect, Judge,' says Hod, for appearing in a measly little justice court case.' He's got a mighty nasty way of smiling, Hod has. But scared? No. Not none.

"'I'll fight this case as long as you like,' says the Judge, 'and I'll win it, too.'

"'Maybe, maybe, Judge,' says Hod. 'But they's more ways than one of skinning a cat. Suppose you do win it, what've you won? It's all plumb wrong anyhow, and it orto be stopped. These people all orto go on home.'

"'So you want to try the case here, huh?' says the Judge; and says Hod:

"'That's just what I do. I mean I don't want to try it none at all. I've got various reasons, beside, why I don't want to try this case, or have it tried. Are you a good guesser?' I didn't know what he meant by that.

"'What're you getting at?' says the Judge. 'I know you've got something hid. There's a sleeper in here somewheres.'

"'Well, let it stay hid,' says Hod. 'But one thing is sure, you ain't hiding it none that you're out for Senator?'

"'Why should I? I'll win it, too,' says the Judge.

"'Maybe, maybe,' says Hod. 'All I was going to say was, maybe you'd like to have me help you, say left-handed, thataway? Even left-handed help is some good.'

"'What do you mean, Hod?' says he. 'They tell me you're mentioned strong for the other ticket and are out after the place your own self?' He takes a kind of look-over at Hod, no collar nor nothing, and that sleazy coat of his'n.

"'That's so,' says Hod. 'I've got a chance anyhow. Even every bad-chance candidate out of your way is so much to the candy for you, Judge, ain't it so?' says he.

"'Say now, you don't mean you'd talk of withdrawing?' Judge Henderson he was all lit up when he says this. 'On what terms?' says he. 'Of course, there's terms of some sort.'

"'Easiest terms in the world,' says Hod—though I don't think it was easy for him to say it, for he's got as good a chance as the Judge, like enough. But he says, 'Easiest sort of terms,' and laughs.

"'Talk fast,' says the Judge.

"'Dismiss this suit—withdraw from this case—and I'll withdraw from all candidacy on any ticket! That goes!' He said it savage.

"'Do you mean it?' says the Judge, and Hod he says he does. 'I've got reasons for not wanting this case to go on,' says he. 'It's politics brought you here, Judge, and I know that, but it's mighty good politics you'll be playing not never to try this case at all. Drop it, Judge. Politics against politics; you win. Lawyer against lawyer, I win. But I pay the biggest price, and you know it mighty well, even if you're a poor guesser why I'm doing this. Since you're getting all the best of the bargain, is it a bargain, then?'

"Henderson he thinks for a while, and says he at last, 'Anyhow, I never knew you to break your word,' says he.

"'No,' says Hod, simple, 'I don't do that,'

"'I'll go you!' says the Judge, sudden, and he sticks out his hand. 'I shake politically, Judge,' says Hod. 'No more; but it's enough. We don't neither of us need explain no more,' And damn me! If they didn't quit right there, where it seemed to me a whole lot of explaining what they meant 'd a-ben a right good thing for me anyways, for I couldn't gether what it was all about.

"But I heard the whole business—and there wasn't no fight, nor nothing, just only that talk like I said, and I don't know nothing of why they done it, I only know what they done. That's why there wasn't no fight, no trial after all—and us setting there that long! I want to say, some things is beginning to look mighty mysterious to me. But I ain't saying what I think. You'll see."

Hod Brooks was first to address the court. He stood, a tall and hulking figure, one hand upon the shoulder of DieudonnÉ Lane—stood in such fashion as in part to shield Don's mother from the gaze alike of court and audience.

"Your Honor," said he, and his face now was very grave; "I assume the Court has been in recess. After conference with my learned brother I believe that he has some statement to make to the Court."

He turned now toward Henderson, who straightened up.

"May it please the Court," he began, "I find it incumbent upon me to withdraw as counsel in this case. My learned brother has lived up to the full traditions of courtesy in our profession, but I will only say that I have learned certain facts which render it impossible for me to represent this client properly in this cause. There would seem to have been certain justifying circumstances, not at first put before me, which leave me more reluctant to prosecute this defendant. I shall counsel my client to withdraw his suit."

Blackman in his surprise scarcely heard the deep voice of Don Lane's attorney as he spoke in turn.

"May it please the Court," said he gently, "it is the best function of an attorney to counsel restraint and moderation; it is most honorable of any great counsel to decline any case which does not enlist his full convictions. It is the duty of all of us to uphold the actual peace and actual dignity of this community. I have never entertained a fuller respect for my learned brother than I have at this moment. I withdraw what I said about his portrait yonder—and may say I do not blame any man for being well content even in the offer of an honor which I cannot and do not contemplate for myself—the great honor of the candidacy for the Senate of the United States. It is my own function, none the less, to state that there is no cause why my client should be longer detained. He and others, these witnesses, are virtually restrained of their liberty. I therefore move the dismissal of this case. I think these people all ought to go home. I further suggest that this court adjourn—if this latter suggestion be fully within my own province."

He turned an inquiring gaze upon Tarbush, city marshal, who by this time had fairly sunken down into the depths of his coat collar.

"How about the plaintiff?" said Blackman, turning a hesitating glance upon Judge Henderson, who seemed much relieved by what his opponent in fact and in posse had said.

"There is other counsel for him," said Judge Henderson, "but if he will take my own advice, he will drop the case now and at this point."

"What does the plaintiff say?" Blackman bent an inquiring gaze on the battered visage of Ephraim Adamson. The latter lifted up a swollen eyelid with thumb and finger, and turned a still confused gaze upon court and counsel. His reply, crestfallen though it was, brought a titter from the audience.

"I guess I'm satisfied," said he.

Blackman looked from one to the other, and then back to the faces of the disappointed audience of the citizens of Spring Valley.

"Order in the court!" exclaimed Blackman, J. P., fiercely. "This court is adjourned!" He spoke with a certain disgust, as of one aware of participation in a fiasco.

With a rush and a surge the room began to empty. Judge Henderson departed, well in advance, looking straight ahead, and acknowledging none of the greetings which met him. He evidently was above such work, even disgusted with the whole affair. Hod Brooks remained, his curious glance still riveted on Don Lane.

Don stood hesitating before the table of justice. He had not known before that his burly counsel had any acquaintance with his mother, but he saw plainly the glance of recognition which passed between them.

Aurora Lane and Miss Julia waited until the stair was clear, but as Don would have followed them, Hod Brooks beckoned to him, in his blue eyes a sort of puzzled wonderment, a surprise that seemed half conviction.

"I thank you, Mr. Brooks," said Don Lane, turning to his counsel. He wondered curiously why the big man should seem so red of face and so perturbed. "What can I do for you—I have not much——"

The great face of Hod Brooks flushed yet more. "Don't talk to me about pay, my boy," said he—"don't talk to me about anything. Wait till things straighten out a little. The prosecution's dropped. That's all—or that's enough. Now, listen. I knew you when I saw you come in here! They told me you were dead, but I knew you when first my eyes fell on you. You're like your mother. I've known your mother for years—I think a lot of her and her friend Miss Julia, don't you see? It's strange news to me you are alive, but you are, and that's enough. I must be going now. I'll see you and your mother both. But before I do, just come with me, for I've a little more counsel to give you—it won't cost you anything, and I think it will do some good."

He beckoned Don to join him once more in the hall, and what he said required but a moment. An instant later, and old Brooks had hurried down the stair. A part of his words to Don had been overheard by old Silas, but the latter could only wonder what it all might mean.

"Aaron," said he, "I ain't no detecative, and don't claim to be, but now, some day if anything should happen—well, I ain't sayin', but I know what I know, and some day, some day, Aaron, I may have to tell."

Brooks joined Aurora Lane and Miss Julia and walked with them along the shady street. They walked in silence, Aurora Lane still staring straight ahead, icy cold. It was not until they three halted at her little gate that she could find voice.

"How can we thank you?" said she. "How can we pay?"

The deep color came into the big man's moody face once more. He waved a hand. "You mustn't talk of that," said he. "I reckon I owe you that much and more—a lot more. I'm not done yet. I've done what I thought was right. But as for the case, I didn't fight it, and I didn't win it—the Judge and I, we just didn't make any fight at all, that's all. We settled it out of court, on terms that suited him, anyhow. I'm sorry for Blackman,—he was just honing to soak that boy the limit! Your boy, Aurora—that ought to have stayed dead, I'm afraid, but didn't.

"But peace and dignity," he added—"listen to me—we'll make a Sabbath school out of this town yet! I can't talk very much more now."

With a great uproarious laugh, somewhat nervous, very much perturbed, he raised his hat clumsily, turned upon his heel clumsily, and would have walked off clumsily. An exclamation from Miss Julia stopped him.

"Where's Don?" asked she. "And what's that over yonder—what does the crowd mean?" She pointed down to the corner of the courthouse square, where indeed a closely packed group was thrusting this way and that, apparently about some center of interest.

"Oh, that?" said Hod Brooks, carelessly, turning his gaze thither; "that's nothing. Pray don't be excited—it's only my—my client, carrying out the last of my legal instructions to him."

"But what does it mean?" demanded Aurora Lane in sudden terror—"what's going on there? Is there more trouble?"

Hod Brooks broke off a spear of grass from its place between the sidewalk and the fence, and meditatively began to chew it.

"Oh, no, I think not," said he gently. "I don't think the boy will have much trouble. He's doing what I counseled him to do."

"What have you told him—what is he doing—what does it all mean?" demanded Aurora Lane.

"Nothing," said the big man, still gazing ruminatingly at the scene beyond. "As a member of the bar I was bound to give him such counsel as should be of most practical benefit to him—I swore that in my oath of admission to the bar. So I told him that as soon as court was adjourned he ought to take old Eph Adamson and thrash him this time good and proper. I told him nothing would come of it if he did. I told him it was his plain duty to do it, and if he didn't do it I'd do it myself, because the dogs have got to be put to sleep again now in this town.... I must say," he added, "I am inclined to believe that my client is following his instructions to the letter!" After which Hod Brooks strolled on away.

The crowd at the farther corner of the square broke apart before long.

"By jinks! Silas," said old Aaron to his friend, "who'd a thought it? I've seen some fights, but that was the shortest I ever did see. And he made old Eph Adamson holler 'enough!' By criminy! he done that very thing. Looks to me, safest thing right is not to talk too much about 'Rory Lane!"

Don Lane emerged from the thick of the crowd, his coat over his arm, his face pale in anger, his eye seeking any other champion who might oppose him.

"Listen to me now, you people!" he said. "If there's another one of you that ever does what that man there has done, or says what he said, he'll get the same he did, or worse. You hear me, now—I'll thrash the life out of any man that raises his voice against anyone of my family. You hear me, now?"

He cast a straight and steady gaze upon Old Man Tarbush, who stood irresolute.

"No, you'll not arrest me again," said he. "You know you won't. You'll leave me alone. If you don't, you'll be the next. I don't love you any too well the way it is.

"Get out now, all of you—you most of all," he added, and gave Marshal Tarbush a contemptuous shove as he elbowed his own way on out of the crowd.

Old Hod Brooks passed on down the street and took the opposite side of the public square, paying no attention to all this. He ambled on until he found his own office at length. A half hour later he might have been seen in his customary attitude, slouched deep down into his chair, his head sunk between his shoulders, his feet propped up on the table, and his eyes bent on the pages of a volume of the law.

He had in his lap now no less an authority than "Chitty on Pleadings." He had sat there for some moments—and he had not seen a word on all the page.