“Me? I’d git me about a dozen fellers and fill ’em with booze and give ’em sledge hammers. Then I’d turn ’em loose on that printin’ office, and when they got through there wouldn’t be enough left of it to print a ticket to a church sociable with.” “Um!...” “That ’u’d settle _that_.” “I suppose you’d lead them down yourself?” “You bet.” “I always thought you were a fool, Jenney. Why not stand by the town jump and holler that you’re a whisky runner?... And you planning to be sheriff....” Abner waggled his head. “This is the kind of brains I have to trust to,” he said, sourly. “Hain’t nobody else to do it,” said Jenney, defensively. “Seems like Peewee Bangs might be kind of irritated by a newspaper piece like this--and you can trust Peewee to keep in the background, too.” Jenney slapped his leg, “And he’s got a bunch of plug-uglies handy, too.” Abner motioned to the door. “Get out,” he said, “and don’t come near me again till I send for you. I don’t want the smell of you on my clothes when I walk down the street.” Deputy Jenney walked down the road and presently turned upon Main Street, which would carry him past the _Free Press_ office. He paused at sight of a knot of people gathered before its window, and joined them. Carmel had carried enterprise--or indiscretion--to its ultimate. On a table in the window stood a quart bottle of Scotch whisky. Behind it stood a placard announcing it to be the evidence in the case--a veritable bottle from the smuggler’s _cache_ in the woods. Jenney ground his teeth, and, seeing Evan Bartholomew Pell seated at his work, saw red for an instant. He was an impulsive man, and temper often carried him somewhat beyond the boundaries where good judgment reigned. It is not easy to prophesy what he would have done had not a hand rested on his arm. “Whoo!... Easy there! So-ooo!” whispered a voice, and, looking down, he saw the sharp, wolf-like features of the hunchback, Peewee Bangs. “Interestin’ exhibit,” said Bangs. “Kind of stole a march on the sheriff’s office.” He laughed a thin, shrill laugh. “Come away from here. I got suthin’ to talk to ye about,” said Jenney. “That,” said Peewee, “makes two of us.” “What’s _he_ got to say about it?” Peewee asked when they had turned the next corner and were in a deserted side street. “He don’t want it to happen ag’in.” “Don’t wonder at it. Him ’n’ me agrees.” “It hain’t goin’ to,” said Jenney, meaningly. “So.... Now, f’r instance.... You listen, Dep’ty, too many folks disappearin’ and onaccounted for is goin’ to raise curiosity. Surer ’n’ shootin’.... More especial if it’s a woman.” “No disappearin’s figgered on.... Anyhow, I’m goin’ to be appointed sheriff by the Governor.... Naw. This here’s simple. Jest smashin’.” “Like you done to the perfessor?... Gritty, wa’n’t he? Never kin tell, kin ye?... I tell ye, Jenney, that perfessor’s a feller to figger on. Shouldn’t be s’prised if he got to be dangerous.... I wonder how come she to tie up to him.”