Time wore on:—court day arrived, and Bob Black and Earthquake were the only candidates. Near a large square log building, called the court-house, and which had been built for that purpose, until a better one could supply its place, a crowd had gathered, and appearances indicated that no very ordinary event was about to occur; for the multitude swaggered about with an important air, and each one felt larger than on ordinary occasions. Moreover, they seemed excited, not by artificial stimulus, but by the importance of some coming event. That the hour which custom had set apart as the time when they should begin to drink had not arrived, if you are a shrewd observer, you would have seen at a glance; for many of the crowd would change a heavy quid from the left to the right side, and cocking up their eyes at the sun, gaze for a moment to see the hour, then shake their heads and cast them down as if disappointed; and then, if you had been present, you would have heard inquiries of this sort:—“Who toats the silver time of day in his pocket?” and perhaps an answer to this effect:—“Lawyer Rolfe; he's a gentleman all over, and a nation fine man.” Then if you would keep a sharp look out, you might have seen several pressing forward towards Rolfe, who stood in earnest conversation just before a small tippling shop, and to the remark, “you toat the silver time of day, 'Squire, tell us the hour,” have heard Rolfe reply, “twelve, by every good watch, for you know time flies faster on election than on other days;” and then turning to the barkeeper, say, “give us a gallon of your best.” At that call, the tobacco fell in large wads upon the ground, and a pleasing smile played over their countenances.