“We jest _had_ to take action,” affirmed the self-constituted speaker for the others. “The opinions you have expressed,” and Odell at once began to warm up to his task, “are so undoctrinal an’ so p’int blank ag’in’ the articles of faith that, believin’ as you seem to believe, you are plumb out o’ j’int with Big Cabin Church, an’ a resky man in any God-feerin’ community. God Almighty”--and those who saw Odell’s twitching upper lip and indignantly flashing eye knew that the noted “exhorter” was about to become mercilessly personal and vindictive--“God Almighty is the present ruler of the universe, but sence you have set up to run ag’in’ Him it looks like you’d need a wider scope of territory to transact business in than jest heer in this settlement.” The blood had left Calihan’s face. His eyes swept from one stern, unrelenting countenance to another till they rested on his wife and daughter, who sat side by side, their faces in their aprons, their shoulders quivering with soundless sobs. They had forsaken him. He was an alien in his own house, a criminal convicted beneath his own roof. His rugged breast rose and fell tumultuously as he strove to command his voice. “I hain’t meant no harm--not a speck,” he faltered, as he wiped the perspiration from his quivering chin. “I hain’t no hand to stir up strife in a community. I’ve tried to be law-abidin’ an’ honest, but it don’t seem like a man kin he’p thinkin’. He--” “But he kin keep his thinkin’ to hisse’f,” interrupted Odell, sharply; and a pause came after his words. In a jerky fashion Calihan spit over his shoulder again. He looked at his wife and daughter for an instant, and nodded several times as if acknowledging the force of Odell’s words. Bart Callaway took out his tobacco-quid and nervously shuffled it about in his palm as if he had half made up his mind that Odell ought not to do all the talking, but he remained mute, for Mrs. Calihan had suddenly looked up.