Pole stood up at his full height, the chain clanking as he rose. “They hain't treated me right about this matter, Alan Bishop,” he said, half resentfully, half as if he recognized his own error. “Bill knows he hain't done the fair thing. I know I was full, but I jest wanted to have my fun. That don't justify him in puttin' me out heer with these niggers fer folks to gap' at, an' he knows it. He ain't a friend right. Me 'n' him has slep' together on the same pile o' leaves, an' I've let 'im pull down on a squirrel when I could 'a' knocket it from its perch; an' I've lent 'im my pointer an' gun many an' many a time. But he's showed what he is! He's got the wrong sow by the yeer, though, fer ef he keeps me heer till Christmas I 'll never crack a rock, unless I do it by accidentally step-pin' on it. Mark my words, Alan Bishop, thar 'll be trouble out o' this.” “Don't talk that way, Pole,” said Alan. “You've broken the law and they had to punish you for it. If they hadn't they would have made themselves ridiculous. Why didn't you send me word you were in trouble, Pole?” The fellow hung his head, and then he blurted out: “Beca'se I knowed you would make a fool o' yorese'f an' try to pay me out. Damn it, Alan Bishop, this ain't no business o' yore'n!” “I 'll make it my business,” said Alan. “How much is your fine? You ought to have sent me word.” “Sent you hell, Alan Bishop,” growled the prisoner. “When I send you word to he'p me out of a scrape that whiskey got me into I 'll do it after I've decently cut my throat. I _say!_--when you've plead with me like you have to quit the durn stuff!” At this point of the conversation Jeff Dukes, a man of medium size, dressed in dark-blue uniform, with a nickel-plated badge shaped like a shield and bearing the words “Marshal No. 2,” came directly towards them from a stone-cutter's shop near by. “Look heer, Bishop,” he said, dictatorially, “whar'd you git the right to talk to that man?” Alan looked surprised. “Am I breaking the law, too?” “You are, ef you hain't got a permit from the mayor in yore pocket.” “Well, I have no permit,” replied Alan, with a good-natured smile. “Have you got another ball an' chain handy?” The officer frowned off his inclination to treat the matter as a jest. “You ort to have more sense than that,” he said, crustily. “Pole's put out heer to work his time out, an' ef everybody in town is allowed to laugh an' joke with him he'd crack about as many rocks as you or me.” “You are a durn liar, Jeff Dukes,” said Pole, angrily. “You are a-makin' that up to humiliate me furder. You know no law like that never was inforced. Ef I ever git you out in Pea Vine Destrict I 'll knock a dent in that egg-shaped head o' yor'n, an' make them eyes look two ways fer Sunday. You know a gentleman like Alan Bishop wouldn't notice you under ordinary circumstances, an' so you trump up that excuse to git his attention.”