How much longer Tarbush might have prattled on in his double capacity of officer and gossip remained uncertain. Miss Julia turned upon him, her large dark eyes flashing: "Why do you bring her into it? She's just told me--they were only crossing the square--she was only trying to go home--she wasn't troubling anyone in all the world! Leave her out of it." "I ain't got no choice in it," said Tarbush. "I'm serving the papers now. Miss Lane and the boy both comes. Not that I got any feeling in the matter." "Why should you have?" asked Don Lane, with a cynical smile. "You've been letting that ruffian run this town every Saturday for years, they tell me, and you didn't dare call his bluff till you saw he was whipped. All right, we'll go. I'll see this thing through--but I want to tell you, you've started something that will be almighty hard to stop. You needn't think I'm going to let this thing drop here." "Oh, now," began the man of authority, "I wish't you wouldn't feel thataway. I done my duty as I seen it. Didn't I take him to jail?" "Yes, you did, after I had turned him over to you. But you took the wrong man at that." "Who should I of took?" "I don't know," laughed Don Lane bitterly. "All the town, I think. We'll see." This was too cryptic for Joel Tarbush. Weakly he felt in his pocket for tobacco. "Well," said he at length, "I done summonsed you." "We have no choice," said Aurora Lane, after a time. "We'll get ready. Miss Julia, can't you go with me?" "Of course," said Julia Delafield quietly. CHAPTER IV IN OPEN COURT In his narrow little room upstairs in one of the two-story brick buildings which framed the public square of Spring Valley sat J. B. Blackman, Justice of the Peace, upholder of the majesty of the law. His throne was a knock-kneed, broken chair. In front of him stood a large scarred table, whereon rested the equipment of well-thumbed tomes which bolstered him in his administration of justice. In the room beyond stood a few scattered chairs, a long bench or two. On one wall, by way of ornament, was a steel engraving of Daniel Webster. On the opposite wall hung certain lithographs of political candidates of like party persuasion with Blackman himself, for this was a presidential year, and certain crises of political sort existed, among others the choosing of a Senator of the United States. Among lesser likenesses on Blackman's grimy wall loomed large the portrait of his party's candidate, to wit: the Honorable William Henderson, late County Attorney, late District Judge, late member of the Legislature, late candidate for Governor, late Chairman of the State Republican Committee; and by virtue of the death of the late incumbent in the office of United States senator, himself now present candidate for that lofty honor. Otherwise than as to these purposeful decorations the room had small adornment and appeared judicially austere.