Court day brought ever a large and motley crowd to town.

It is the farmer's levee, his monthly holiday—a proper time for friendly intercourse and barter. Usually busied in the field or about the farm, he sees little of the social or business world except through the medium of county court day.

On such occasions most of the tillers of the soil quit work and come in from the surrounding country and the neighboring hills—even from further outlying villages and adjacent counties. Some come on business, some on pleasure bent, but whether for recreation or profit, a goodly crowd convenes, the day in itself an all-sufficient excuse for the act.

A Kentucky court day possesses a marked social feature peculiarly its own. The men meet friends and neighbors in a social mood; renew acquaintances of long standing, and enjoy making new ones; they exchange political opinions, disseminate local news, trade, swap, buy or sell; the women come to town, exchange country produce for shopping bargains, and learn something of the prevailing mode from their more stylish sisters who are in closer touch with the outer world.

Occasionally it comes to pass that personal grievances and feuds of long standing, or even family differences, are settled by a court day encounter, wherein the all-too-ready knife or pistol helps to play the tragic part; but oftener a spirit of good-fellowship prevails, and the social glass binds friendly neighbors into boon companions.

There is yet a more God-fearing element—the bone and sinew of pioneer strength and hardy manhood, men of simple faith, who walk sedately in the paths of sobriety and peace, whose lives are as quiet and gentle as the folk who once "dwelt in the basin of Minas." And in all, it is a strangely mixed gathering of good and evil—a Kentucky court day.

A larger crowd than usual was in town on this particular October morning. Most of the crops had been laid by, and even the more careful husbandmen felt as if they might safely indulge in a holiday without disquieting thoughts of work done and duties neglected; but there were other reasons yet to account for the large attendance on this day.

An undercurrent of suppressed excitement was manifest throughout the community, for the recent toll-gate raids, and the rumored threats against gates still standing in the county, made the question of free roads an all-absorbing topic.

The greater number of farmers were in favor of no toll, as was naturally the case, though some suggested a new and lower scale of rates, while the more conservative looked with apprehension on the spirit of lawlessness that seemed suddenly to flame into a passion that might grow alarmingly akin to anarchy, if the destructive tendency were left unchecked.

These more prudent, law-abiding men counseled patience and forbearance until the voice of the people should decide the question of free roads at the next election, and the slow-moving machinery of legislation give by purchase the right of travel without the payment of toll, which many cried out against as an unjust and excessive tariff.

A discordant note had for a long time prevailed among these dwellers of the hills in opposition to the turnpike corporations, and this antagonistic spirit had intensified and spread, slowly leavening the disquiet, until it had become dangerously like a hot-bed of communism, only waiting for a daring hand to stir it into flame and action, and now this had finally come to pass.

The recent bold work of the raiders was guardedly discussed in public, for one did not always know but that a partisan to the cause might be the listener. A few non-partisans who had been overbold in their denunciation of the raiders' methods of acquiring free roads, had received anonymous letters warning them to silence, while a crude drawing of hangman's noose, or skull and crossbones lent significant weight to the message.

Since the burning of the Cross Roads gate, the county court had offered a reward of two hundred dollars for information that would lead to the apprehension and capture of any of the raiders, while numerous rumors were afloat concerning them. It was hinted that Maggie O'Flynn had recognized two or three members of the band the night of the attack on the gate, and that several arrests would soon follow.

Men from adjacent counties brought the news of toll-gates raided near their homes. The infection was rapidly spreading, and it seemed that the fiat had gone forth dooming the collecting of tolls, and forecasting the speedy downfall of all the gates.

Several times through the day Squire Bixler saw the man with whom he had held converse the previous night, but on meeting him now, in the broad light of day, an indifferent nod on the one hand, and a friendly, "Howdy, Squire!" on the other, was all that passed between the two men.

Milton Derr was also in town, but no recognition whatever took place between him and his uncle when they met by chance some two or three times, face to face, on the crowded street.

The Squire shrewdly kept his eyes open and tried to bear in mind the different persons his confidential informant held converse with during the day; but this one was here and there, with a nod, a hand-shake or a friendly greeting, having, it seemed, no especial business with any one.

Along toward five o'clock (for the dusk came on early these brief October days) the Squire got his horse and started homeward. He had chosen to ride a horse on this occasion, for he did not wish to be importuned to give any one a seat in his buggy on the way back, and there was no prospect of having the pretty toll-gate keeper for company, for she was helping her mother collect toll, as it was court day. Moreover, for special reasons of his own, the Squire desired to be alone.

He jogged along at a moderate pace until he reached the top of the first hill; then he let his horse drop into a slow walk, for, on looking back, he saw in the waning light a horseman approaching from the town, and judging that it was the person he wanted to see, he came to a halt in the road when the overhanging elm was reached.

"What news?" asked he, as the other rode up.

"The night riders will be out again tonight, sure an' certain."

"About what time will they make a raid?"

"Along towards midnight—perhaps a little later."

"And what gate will they attack?"

"This one," answered his companion, nodding down the road.

"What! the New Pike gate?" exclaimed the Squire.

"Yes, it was decided at the last moment by the captain."

"Humph! I shouldn't think Milt would want to take a hand in that," muttered the Squire, reflectively.

"He don't know yet that it's to be this one, I think; but even if he did, he wouldn't dare to refuse to go along. He's taken the oath to obey the orders that are given him, an' now he'll have to do it, whether it pleases him or not. You'll have that other hundred all right when I come to see you tomorrow night or the next?"

"That's what I agreed to do, isn't it?" demanded the Squire, testily.

"Yes, of course, Squire, of course, only I wanted to remind you so you wouldn't forget to have it on hand, an' in small bills, too. A man don't feel like riskin' his neck at this business, you know, unless he's sure of gettin' well paid for it."

"You've already received more than yours is worth, I'm thinking," growled the Squire. "If things turn out all right, though, and the young man is safely jailed, I shan't mind giving you the extra hundred out of my own pocket," added he, melting into good humor again, as he rode off homeward.