Trench shook his head. “No, sir, a conservative,” he replied, “but an honest man, I hope. I haven’t much more use for the ignorant black vote than you have, but that question isn’t the one that hits me, Judge.” The judge looked keenly at the grim composure of the face opposite. “What does?” “Dishonesty, fraud, and intimidation,” Trench answered. “And you propose to oppose and expose them?” The old man was keenly interested, his heavy brows drawn down, his eyes sparkling. “I do.” Judge Hollis rose and went over to the younger man. He laid his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a poor man, Trench; they’ll ruin you.” “So be it.” “You’re alone; they’ll kill you,” warned the judge. Trench rose, and as his tall figure towered, the fine width of his brow and the peculiar lucidity of his glance had never seemed more striking. Judge Hollis watched him in grim admiration. “I’ve got but one life,” he said, “and, as God sees me, I’ll live that life in fear of no man.” The judge walked slowly back to his seat, took off his spectacles and laid them down beside his brief. “Reckon Jacob Eaton’s got his match at last,” he said, “and, by the Lord Harry, I’m glad of it!” IV DIANA ROYALL turned her horse’s head from the highroad and began to descend the Trail of the Cedar-bird. It was late afternoon, and the glory of the west was suddenly obscured with a bank of purple clouds; the distant rumble of thunder jarred the stillness, and a moisture, the promise of heavy rain, filled the air. Long streamers of angry clouds drifted across the upper sky, and far off the tall pines stirred restlessly.