“Is that possible?” quoth the judge in tones of a mild surprise. With his thumb he tamped down the smoulder in his pipe. The job appeared to require care; certainly it required full half a minute of time. When next he spoke he had entirely departed from the main line of the topic in hand. “I reckin, son, you never knowed little Gil Nickolas, did you? No, 'taint in reason that you would. He died long before your time. Let's see--he must've died way back yonder about eighteen-sixty-nine, or maybe 'twas eighteen-seventy? He got hisself purty badly shot up at Chickamauga and never did entirely git over it. Well, sir, that there little Gil Nickolas wasn't much bigger than a cake of lye soap after a hard day'; washin', but let me tell you, he was a mighty gallant soldier of the late Southern Confederacy. I know he was because we both served together in old Company B--the first company that went out of this town after the fussin' started. Yes, suh, he shorely was a spunky little raskil. |I reckin he belonged to a spunky outfit--I never knowed one of his breed yit that didn't have more sand, when it come right down to cases, than you could load onto a hoss and waggin.” Again he paused to minister to the spark of life in his pipe bowl. “I recall one time, the first year of the war, me and Gil was out on a kind of a foragin' trip together and----” “I beg your pardon, Judge Priest,” broke in Mr. Flournoy a trifle stiffly, “but I was speaking of the trouble Mrs. Hetty Norfleet's gotten herself into.” “I know you was,” assented Judge Priest, “and that's whut put me in mind of little Gil Nickolas. He was her paw. I ain't seen much of her here of recent years, but I reckin she's had a purty toler'ble hard time of it. Her husband wasn't much account ez I remember him in his lifetime.” “She has had a hard time of it---mighty hard,” assented Mr. Flournoy, “and that's one of the things that makes my job all the harder for me.” “How so?” inquired Judge Priest. “Because,” expounded Mr. Flournoy, “now, I suppose, I've got to put her under arrest and bring her to trial. In a way of speaking Magee has got the law on his side. Certainly he's got the right to call on me to act. On the surface of things the police are keeping out of it--I reckon we both know why--and so it's being put up to me. Magee points out, very truly, that it's a felony charge anyhow, and that even if his dear friend, the acting chief, should start the ball rolling, in the long run, sooner or later, the case would be bound to land in circuit court.” “And whut then?” asked Judge Priest.