"Why, come in, William; come in an' make yourself welcome. You uv heard of the trouble, I make no doubt, or you wouldn't be here. It's turrible, William, turrible, for a man to be overcome in this off-hand way, wi' no time for to say his pra's or even so much as to be sorry for his misdeeds." Judge Butts's dignity was of the heavy and oppressive kind. His enunciation was slow and deliberate, and he had a way of looking over his spectacles, and nodding his head to give emphasis to his words. This dignity, which was fortified in ignorance, had received a considerable reinforcement from the fact that he was a candidate for a county office on the Republican ticket. Before Mr. Sanders could make any reply to Mahlon's opening remark, Mrs. Becky Butts came into the room. She was not in a very good humour, and, at first, she failed to see Mr. Sanders. "Mahlon, if you don't go and run that gang of niggers off, I'll take the shot-gun to 'em. They've been hanging around--why, howdye, Mr. Sanders? I certainly am glad to see you. I hope you'll stay to dinner; it looks like old times to see you in the house." There was something about Mrs. Becky Butts that was eminently satisfying to the eye. She was younger than her husband, who, at fifty, appeared to be an old man. Her sympathies were so keen and persistent that they played boldly in her face, running about over her features as the sunshine ripples on a pond of clear water. "Set down, Becky," said Mr. Sanders, after he had responded to her salutation. "I've come to find out about the killing of that feller Hotchkiss." "You may well call it killin', William, bekaze Friend Hotchkiss was stone dead a few hours arter the fatal shot was fired," declared Judge Butts. "Where was the killin' done?" inquired Mr. Sanders. He addressed himself to Mrs. Butts, but Mahlon made reply. "We found him, William, right spang in front of Ike Varner's cabin--right thar, an' nowhar else. He war doin' his level best for to git on his feet, an' he tried to talk, but not more than two or three words did he say." "Well, what did he say?" inquired Mr. Sanders. "It was the same thing ever' time--'Why, Tolliver, Tolliver'--them was his very words." "Are you right certain about that, Mahlon?" asked Mr. Sanders. "As certain an' shore, William, as I am that I'm settin' here. Ef he said it once, he said it a dozen times." "I reckon maybe he had been talking with young Tolliver before he came from town," remarked Mrs. Butts, noting Mr. Sanders's serious countenance. "Whar was he wounded, Becky?" asked Mr. Sanders. "Between the left ear and the temple." "Becky's right, William," was the solemn comment of Mahlon. "Yes, sir, he was hit betwixt the year an' the temple." "Did you have a doctor?" "We sent for one, but if he come, we never saw him," Mrs. Butts replied. "Would you uv believed it, William? An' yit it's the plain truth," said Mahlon. "What time was Hotchkiss killed?"