"
"Yes, Sah." And Steve withdrew.
The judge drew an easy-chair up to the flat-topped desk that
stood in the center of the room, and seated himself.
"Are you going to make this the excuse for another drunk, Price?
If so, I feel the greatest contempt for you," said Mahaffy
sternly.
The judge winced at this.
"You have made a regrettable choice of words, Solomon," he urged
gently.
"Where's your feeling for the boy?"
"Here!" said the judge, with an eloquent gesture, resting his
hand on his heart.
"If you let whisky alone, I'll believe you, otherwise what I have
said must stand."
The door opened, and the sheriff slouched into the room. He was
chewing a long wheat straw, and his whole appearance was one of
troubled weakness.
"Morning," he said briefly.
"Sit down, Sheriff," and the judge indicated a meek seat for the
official in a distant corner. "Have you learned anything?" he
asked.
The sheriff shook his head.
"What you turning all these neighbors out of doors for?" he
questioned.
"We don't want people tracking in and out the house, Sheriff.
Important evidence may be destroyed. I propose examining the
slaves first--does that meet with your approval?"
"Oh, I've talked with them, they don't know nothing," said the
sheriff. "No one don't know nothing."
"Please God, we may yet put our fingers on some villain who
does," said the judge.
Outside it was noised about that judge Price had taken matters in
hand--he was the old fellow who had been warned to keep his mouth
shut, and who had never stopped talking since.
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