"If, by any chance I should not come back, I want you to hold Uncle Spicer and old Wile McCager to their pledge. They must not privately avenge me. They must still stand for the law. I want you, and this is most important of all, to leave these mountains----" Her hands tightened on his shoulders. "Not that, Samson," she pleaded; "not these mountains where we've been together." "You promised. I want you to go to the Lescotts in New York. In a year, you can come back--if you want to; but you must promise that." "I promise," she reluctantly yielded. It was half-past nine o'clock when Samson South and Sidney Callomb rode side by side into Hixon from the east. A dozen of the older Souths, who had not become soldiers, met them there, and, with no word, separated to close about them in a circle of protection. As Callomb's eyes swept the almost deserted streets, so silent that the strident switching of a freight train could be heard down at the edge of town, he shook his head. As he met the sullen glances of the gathering in the court-house yard, he turned to Samson. "They'll fight," he said, briefly. Samson nodded. "I don't understand the method," demurred the officer, with perplexity. "Why don't they shoot you at once. What are they waiting for?" "They want to see," Samson assured him, "what tack I mean to take. They want to let the thing play itself out, They're inquisitive--and they're cautious, because now they are bucking the State and the world." Samson with his escort rode up to the court-house door, and dismounted. He was for the moment unarmed, and his men walked on each side of him, while the onlooking Hollmans stood back in surly silence to let him pass. In the office of the County Judge, Samson said briefly: "I want to get my deputies sworn in." "We've got plenty deputy sheriffs," was the quietly insolent rejoinder. "Not now--we haven't any." Samson's voice was sharply incisive. "I'll name my own assistants." "What's the matter with these boys?" The County Judge waved his hand toward two hold-over deputies. "They're fired." The County Judge laughed. "Well, I reckon I can't attend to that right now." "Then, you refuse?" "Mebby you might call it that." Samson leaned on the Judge's table, and rapped sharply with his knuckles. His handful of men stood close, and Callomb caught his breath, in the heavy air of storm-freighted suspense. The Hollman partisans filled the room, and others were crowding to the doors. "I'm High Sheriff of this County now," said Samson, sharply. "You are County Judge. Do we coöperate--or fight?" "I reckon," drawled the other, "that's a matter we'll work out as we goes along. Depends on how obedient ye air." "I'm responsible for the peace and quiet of this County," continued Samson. "We're going to have peace and quiet." The Judge looked about him. The indications did not appear to him indicative of peace and quiet. "Air we?" he inquired.