“Yes,” said the Judge soberly, “and I hope we ain't the last ones too--that's what I'm hopin'. What with the weather bein' so warm and darkies thick everywhere”--he broke off short. “It's purty near nine o'clock now.” “You don't say so?” said the Sergeant. “Then we shorely oughter be startin' purty soon. Was a time when I could set up half the night and not feel it scarcely. But here lately I notice I like to turn in sort of early. I reckin it must be the weather affectin' me.” “That must be it,” assented the Judge, “I feel it myself--a little; but look here, Sergeant, we never yet started off a regular meetin' without a little music. I reckin we might wait a little while on Herman to come and play Dixie for us. The audience will be small but appreciative, as the feller says.” A smile flickered across his face. “Herman manages to keep younger and spryer than a good many of the boys.” “Yes, that's so too,” said the Sergeant, “but jest yestiddy I heared he was fixin' to turn over his business to his son and that nephew of his and retire.” “That's no sign he's playin' out,” challenged Judge Priest rather quickly, “no sign at all. I reckin Herman jest wants to knock round amongst his friends more.” Sergeant Bagby nodded as if this theory was a perfectly satisfactory one to him. A little pause fell. The Sergeant reached backward to a remote and difficult hip pocket and after two unsuccessful efforts, he fished out what appeared to be a bit of warped planking. “They're tearing away the old Sanders place,” he confessed somewhat sheepishly, “and I stopped in by there as I come down and fetched away this here little piece of clapboard for a sort of keepsake. You recollect, Judge, that was where Forrest made his headquarters that day when we raided back into town here? Lawsy, what a surprise old Bedford did give them Yankees. But shucks, that was Bedford's specialty--surprises.” He stopped and cocked his whity-gray head toward the door hopefully. “Listen yonder, that must be Herman Felsburg comin' up the steps now. Maybe Doctor Lake is with him. Weather or no weather, niggers or no niggers, it's mighty hard to keep them two away from a regular meetin' of the Camp.” But the step outside was too light a step and too peart for Mr. Felsburg's. It was Ed Gafford who shoved his head in. “Judge Priest,” he stated, “you're wanted on the telephone right away. They said they had to speak to you in person.” The Sergeant waited, with what patience he could, while the Judge stumped down the long flights, and after a little, stumped back again. His legs were quivering under him and it was quite a bit before he quit blowing and panting. When he did speak, there was a reluctant tone in his voice.