"Hasn't Norton any friends?" he demanded of Pegloe. "Who's going
to be safe at this rate? We want to let some law into west
Tennessee, a hanging or two would clear the air!" His emotions
became a rage that blew through him like a gale, shaking him to
his center.
Two mornings later he found where it had been placed under his
door during the night a folded paper. It contained a single line
of writing:
"You talk too much. Shut up, or you'll go where Norton went."
Now the judge was accessible to certain forms of fear. He was,
for instance, afraid of snakes--both kinds--and mobs he had
dreaded desperately since his Pleasantville experience; but
beyond this, fear remained an unexplored region to Slocum Price,
and as he examined the scrawl a smile betokening supreme
satisfaction overspread his battered features. He was agreeably
affected by the situation; indeed he was delighted. His
activities were being recognized; he had made his impression; the
cutthroats had selected him to threaten. Well, the damned
rascals showed their good sense; he'd grant them that! Swelling
with pride, he carried the scrawl to Mahaffy.
"They are forming their estimate of me, Solomon; I shall have
them on the run yet!" he declared.
"You are going out of your way to hunt trouble--as if you hadn't
enough at the best of times, Price! Let these people manage
their own affairs, don't you mix up in them," advised the
conservative Mahaffy.
The judge drew himself up with an air of lofty pride.
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