The sheriff had brought the judge's supper. He reported that the crowd was dispersing, and that on the whole public sentiment was not particularly hostile; indeed, he went so far as to say there existed a strong undercurrent of satisfaction that the jail should have so speedily justified itself. Moreover, there was a disposition to exalt the judge as having furnished the crowning touch to the day's pleasure.

“I reckon, sir, they'd have felt obliged to string you up if there wa'n't no jail,” continued the sheriff lazily from the open door where he had seated himself. “I don't say there ain't them who don't maintain you had ought to be strung up as it is, but people are funny, sir; the majority talk like they might wish to keep you here indefinite. There's no telling when we'll get another prisoner. Tomorrow the blacksmith will fix some iron bars to your window so folks can look in and see you. It will give a heap more air to the place—”

“Unless I do get more air, you will not be troubled long by me!” declared the judge in a tone of melancholy conviction.

The building was intolerably hot, the advantages of ventilation having been a thing the citizens of Pleasantville had overlooked. But the judge was a reasonable soul; he was disposed to accept his immediate personal discomfort with a fine true philosophy; also, hope was stirring in his heart. Hope was second nature with him, for had he not lived all these years with the odds against him?

“You do sweat some, don't you? Oh, well, a man can stand a right smart suffering from heat like this and not die. It's the sun that's dangerous,” remarked the sheriff consolingly. “And you had ought to suffer, sir! that's what folks are sent to jail for,” he added.

“You will kindly bear in mind, sir, that I have been convicted of no crime!” retorted the judge.

“If you hadn't been so blamed particular you might have had company; politest darky you would meet anywhere. Well, sir, I didn't think the boss orator of the day would be the first prisoner—the joke certainly is on you!”

“I never saw such bloody-minded ruffians! Keep them out and keep me in—all I ask is to vindicate myself in the eyes of the world,” said the judge.

“Well,” began the sheriff severely, “ain't it enough to make 'em bloody-minded? Any one of 'em might have taken your money and got stuck. Just to think of that is what hets them up.” He regarded the judge with a glance of displeasure. “I hate to see a man so durn unreasonable in his p'int of view. And you picked a lady—a widow-lady—say, ain't you ashamed?”

“Well, sir, what's going to happen to me?” demanded the judge angrily.

“I reckon you'll be tried. I reckon the law will deal with you—that is, if the public remains ca'm. Maybe it will come to the conclusion that it'd prefer a lynching—people are funny.” He seemed to detach himself from the possible current of events.

“And, waking and sleeping, I have that before me!” cried the judge bitterly.

“You had ought to have thought of that sooner, when you was unloading that money. Why, it ain't even good counterfeit! I wonder a man of your years wa'n't slicker.”

“Have you taken steps to find the boy, or Solomon Mahaffy?” inquired the judge.

“For what?”

“How is my innocence going to be established—how am I going to clear myself if my witnesses are hounded out of the county?”

“I love to hear you talk, sir. I told 'em at the raising to-day that I considered you one of the most eloquent minds I had ever listened to—but naturally, sir, you are too smart to be honest. You say you ain't been convicted yet; but you're going to be! There's quite a scramble for places on the jury already. There was pistols drawed up at the tavern by some of our best people, sir, who got het up disputin' who was eligible to serve.” The judge groaned. “You should be thankful them pistols wasn't drawed on you, sir,” said the sheriff amiably. “You've got a heap to be grateful about; for we've had one lynching, and we've rid one or two parties on a rail after giving 'em a coat of tar and feathers.”

The judge shuddered. The sheriff continued placidly:

“I'll take it you'll get all that's coming to you, sir, say about twenty years—that had ought to let you out easy. Sort of round out your earthly career, and leave something due you t'other side of Jordan.”

“I suppose there is no use in my pointing out to you that I did not know the money was counterfeit, and that I was quite innocent of any intention to defraud Mrs. Walker?” said the judge, with a weary, exasperated air.

“It don't make no difference where you got the money; you know that, for you set up to be some sort of a lawyer.”

Presently the sheriff went his way into the dusk of the evening, and night came swiftly to fellowship the judge's fears. A single moonbeam found its way into the place, making a thin rift in the darkness. The judge sat down on the three-legged stool, which, with a shake-down bed, furnished the jail. His loneliness was a great wave of misery that engulfed him.

“Well, just so my life ain't cut short!” he whispered.

He had known a varied career, and what he was pleased to call his unparalleled misfortunes had reduced him to all kinds of desperate shifts to live, but never before had the law laid its hands on him. True, there had been times and seasons when he had been grateful for the gloom of the dark ways he trod, for echoes had taken the place of the living voice that had once spoken to his soul; but he could still rest his hand upon his heart and say that the law had always nodded to him to pass on.

Where was Solomon Mahaffy, and where Hannibal? He felt that Mahaffy could fend for himself, but he experienced a moment of genuine concern when he thought of the child. In spite of himself, his thoughts returned to him again and again. But surely some one would shelter and care for him!

“Yes—and work him like a horse, and probably abuse him into the bargain—”

Then there was a scarcely audible rustle on the margin of the woods, a dry branch snapped loudly. A little pause succeeded in which the judge's heart stood still. Next a stealthy step sounded in the clearing. The judge had an agonized vision of regulators and lynchers. The beat of his pulse quickened. He knew something of the boisterous horseplay of the frontier. The sheriff had spoken of tar and feathers—very quietly he stood erect and picked up the stool.

“Heaven helping me, I'll brain a citizen or two before it comes to that!” he told himself.

The cautious steps continued to approach. Some one paused below the closely shuttered window, and a hand struck the boards sharply. A whisper stole into the jail.

“Are you awake, Price?” It was Mahaffy who spoke.

“God bless you, Solomon Mahaffy!” cried the judge unsteadily.

“I've got the boy—he's with me,” said Mahaffy.

“God bless you both!” repeated the judge brokenly. “Take care of him, Solomon. I feel better now, knowing he's in good hands.”

“Please, Judge—” it was Hannibal

“Yes, dear lad?”

“I'm mighty sorry that ten dollars I loaned you was bad—but you don't need ever to pay it back!”

Mahaffy gave way to mirth.

“Never mind!” said the judge indulgently. “It performed all the essential functions of a perfectly legal currency. Just suppose we had discovered it was counterfeit before I took it to the tavern—that would have been a hardship!”

“It were Captain Murrell gave it to me,” explained Hannibal.

“I consecrate myself to his destruction! Judge Slocum Price can not be humiliated with impunity!”

“I should think you would save your wind, Price, until you'd waddled out of danger!” Mahaffy spoke, gruffly.

“How are you going to get me out of this, Solomon—for I suppose you are here to break jail for me,” said the judge.

Mahaffy inspected the building. He found that the door was secured by two ponderous hasps to which were fitted heavy padlocks, but the solid wooden shutter which closed the square hole in the gable that served as a window was fastened by a hasp and peg. He withdrew the peg, opened the shutter, and the judge's face, wreathed in smiles, appeared at the aperture.

“The blessed sky and air!” he murmured, breathing deep. “A week of this would have broken my spirit!”

“If you can, Price, you'd better come feet first,” suggested Mahaffy.

“Not sufficiently acrobatic, Solomon—it's heads or I lose!” said the judge.

He thrust his shoulders into the opening and wriggled outward. Suddenly his forward movement was arrested.

“I was afraid of that!” he said, with a rather piteous smile. “It's my stomach, Solomon!” Mahaffy seized him by the shoulders with lean muscular hands. “Pull!” cried the judge hoarsely. But Mahaffy's vigorous efforts failed to move him.

“I guess you're stuck, Price!”

“Get your wind, Solomon,” urged the judge, “and then, if Hannibal will reach up and work about my middle with his knuckles while you pull, I may get through.” But even this expedient failed.

“Do you reckon you can get me back? I should not care to spend the night so!” said the judge. He was purple and panting.

“Let's try you edgewise!” And Mahaffy pushed the judge into the jail again.

“No,” said the judge, after another period of resolute effort on his part and on the part of Mahaffy. “Providence has been kind to me in the past, but it's clear she didn't have me in mind when they cut this hole.”

“Well, Price, I guess all we can do is to go back to town and see if I can get into my cabin—I've got an old saw there. If I can find it, I can come again to-morrow night and cut away one of the logs, or the cleats of the door.”

“In Heaven's name, do that to-night, Solomon!” implored the judge. “Why procrastinate?”

“Price, there's a pack of dogs in this neighborhood, and we must have a full night to move in, or they'll pull us down before we've gone ten miles!”

The judge groaned.

“You're right, Solomon; I'd forgotten the dogs,” and he groaned again.

Mahaffy closed and fastened the shutter, then he and Hannibal stole across the clearing and entered the woods. The judge flung off his clothes and went to bed, determined to sleep away as many hours as possible. He was only aroused by the arrival of his breakfast, which the sheriff brought about eight o'clock.

“Well, if I was in your boots I couldn't sleep like you!” remarked that official admiringly. “But I reckon, sir, this ain't the first time the penitentiary has stared you in the face.”

“Then you reckon wrong,” said the judge sententiously, as he hauled on his trousers.

“No?—you needn't hurry none. I'll get them dishes when I fetch your dinner,” he added, as he took his leave.

A little later the blacksmith appeared and fitted three iron bars to the window.

“I reckon that'll hold you, old feller!” he observed pleasantly.

He was disposed to linger, since he was interested in the mechanical means employed in the making of counterfeit money and thirsted for knowledge at first hand. Also, he had in his possession a one-dollar bill which had come to him in the way of trade and which local experts had declared to be a spurious production. He passed it in between the bars and demanded the judge's opinion of it as though he were the first authority in the land. But he went no wiser than he came.

It was nearing the noon hour when the judge's solitude was again invaded. He first heard the distant murmur of voices on the road and passed an uneasy and restless ten minutes, with his eye to a crack in the door. He was soothed and reassured, however, when at last he caught sight of the sheriff.

“Well, judge, I got company for you,” cried the sheriff cheerfully, as he threw open the door. “A hoss-thief!”

He pushed into the building a man, hatless and coatless, with a pair of pale villainous eyes and a tobacco-stained chin. The judge viewed the new-comer with disfavor. As for the horse-thief, he gave his companion in misery a coldly critical stare, seated himself on the stool, and with quite a fierce air devoted all his energy to mastication. He neither altered his position nor changed his expression until he and the judge were alone, then, catching the judge's eye, he made what seemed a casual movement with his hand, the three fingers raised; but to the judge this clearly was without significance, and the horse-thief manifested no further interest where he was concerned. He did not even condescend to answer the one or two civil remarks the judge addressed to him.

As the long afternoon wore itself away, the judge lived through the many stages of doubt and uncertainty, for suppose anything had happened to Mahaffy! When the sheriff came with his supper he asked him if he had seen or heard of his friend.

“Judge, I reckon he's lopin' on yet. I never seen a man of his years run as well as he done—it was inspirin' how he got over the ground!” answered the sheriff. Then he attempted conversation with the horse-thief, but was savagely cursed for his pains. “Well, I don't envy you your company none, sir,” he remarked as he took leave of the judge.

Standing before the window, the judge watched the last vestige of light fade from the sky and the stars appear. Would Mahaffy come? The suspense was intolerable. It was possibly eight o'clock. He could not reasonably expect Mahaffy until nine or half past; to come earlier would be too great a risk. Suddenly out of the silence sounded a long-drawn whistle. Three times it was repeated. The horse-thief leaped to his feet.

“Neighbor, that means me!” he cried.

The moon was rising now, and by its light the judge saw a number of horsemen appear on the edge of the woods. They entered the clearing, picking their way among the stumps without haste or confusion. When quite close, five of the band dismounted; the rest continued on about the jail or cantered off toward the road. By this time the judge's teeth were chattering and he was dripping cold sweat at every pore. He prayed earnestly that they might hang the horsethief and spare him. The dismounted men took up a stick of timber that had been cut for the jail and not used.

“Look out inside, there!” cried a voice, and the log was dashed against the door; once—twice—it rose and fell on the clapboards, and under those mighty thuds grew up a wide gap through which the moonlight streamed splendidly. The horse-thief stepped between the dangling cleats and vanished. The judge, armed with the stool, stood at bay.

“What next?” a voice asked.

“Get dry brush—these are green logs—we'll burn this jail!”

“Hold on!” the judge recognized the horse-thief as the speaker. “There's an old party in there! No need to singe him!”

“Friend?”

“No, I tried him.”

The judge tossed away the stool. He understood now that these men were neither lynchers nor regulators. With a confident, not to say jaunty step, he emerged from the jail.

“Your servant, gentlemen!” he said, lifting his hat.

“Git!” said one of the men briefly, and the judge moved nimbly away toward the woods. He had gained its shelter when the jail began to glow redly.

Now to find Solomon and the boy, and then to put the miles between himself and Pleasantville with all diligence. As he thought this, almost at his elbow Mahaffy and Hannibal rose from behind a fallen log. The Yankee motioned for silence and pointed west.

“Yes,” breathed the judge. He noted that Mahaffy had a heavy pack, and the boy his long rifle. For a mile or two they moved forward without speech, the boy in the lead; while at his heels strode Mahaffy, with the judge bringing up the rear.

“How do you feel, Price?” asked Mahaffy at length, over his shoulder.

“Like one come into a fortune! Those horse-thieves gave me a fine scare, but did me a good turn.”

Hannibal kept to the woods by a kind of instinct, and the two men yielded themselves to his guidance; but there was no speech between them. Mahaffy trod in the boy's steps, and the judge, puffing like an overworked engine, came close upon his heels. In this way they continued to advance for an hour or more, then the boy paused.

“Go on!” commanded Mahaffy.

“Do you 'low the judge can stand it?” asked Hannibal.

“Bless you, lad!” panted the judge feelingly.

“He's got to stand it—either that, or what do you suppose will happen to us if they start their dogs?” said Mahaffy.

“Solomon's right—you are sure we are not going in a circle, Hannibal?”

“Yes, I'm sure,” said Hannibal. “Do you see that star? My Uncle Bob learned me how I was to watch that star when I wanted to keep going straight.”

There was another long interval of silence. Bit by bit the sky became overcast. Vague, fleecy rifts of clouds appeared in the heavens. A wind sprang up, murmuring about them, there came a distant roll of thunder, while along the horizon the lightning rushed in broken, jagged lines of fire. In the east there was a pale flush that showed the black, hurrying clouds the winds had summoned out of space.

The booming thunder, first only the sullen menace of the approaching storm, rolled nearer and nearer, and the fierce light came in blinding sheets of flame. A ceaseless, pauseless murmur sprang up out of the distance, and the trees rocked with a mighty crashing of branches, while here and there a big drop of rain fell. Then the murmur swelled into a roar as the low clouds disgorged themselves. Drenched to the skin on the instant, the two men and the boy stumbled forward through the gray wake of the storm.

“What's come of our trail now?” shouted the judge, but the sound of his voice was lost in the rush of the hurrying winds and the roar of the airy cascades that fell about them.

An hour passed. There was light under the trees, faint, impalpable without visible cause, but they caught the first sparkle of the rain drops on leaf and branch; they saw the silvery rivulets coursing down the mossy trunks of old trees; last of all through a narrow rift in the clouds, the sun showed them its golden rim, and day broke in the steaming woods. With the sun, with a final rush of the hurrying wind, a final torrent, the storm spent itself, and there was only the drip from bough and leaf, or pearly opalescent points of moisture on the drenched black trunks of maple and oak; a sapphire sky, high arched, remote overhead; and the June day all about.

“What's come of they trail now?” cried the judge again. “He'll be a good dog that follows it through, these woods!”

They had paused on a thickly wooded hillside.

“We've come eight or ten miles if we have come a rod, Price,” said Mahaffy, “and I am in favor of lying by for the day. When it comes dark we can go on again.”

The judge readily acquiesced in this, and they presently found a dense thicket which they cautiously entered. Reaching the center of the tangled growth, they beat down the briers and bushes, or cut them away with their knives, until they had a little cleared space where they could build a fire. Then from the pack which Mahaffy carried, the rudiments of a simple but filling meal were produced.

“Your parents took no chances when they named you Solomon!” said the judge approvingly.