"With the understanding that you were to stay away," interrupted McAllister Falkins. The Deacon nodded his head. "I'm comin' to that," he answered with tranquillity. "Anyhow, I went away, and I've come back with just one hatred left." "What is that?" demanded Henry Falkins. This man with one hatred was more to be feared than another with many. "Hatred of lawlessness and the sort of meanness that assassinates and quarrels," was the quiet and surprising response. There was no offer to argue or deny, and after a moment he went on. "That sounds a little funny from my lips, I reckon, but all I ask is a chance to prove it." "And simply going away wrought this conversion?" It was the elder man who put the question, and his voice was frank in its scepticism. The Deacon shook his head. "No, not only that. It's a long story, and there's no need for tellin' it all. But some of my time out West I was prospectin' in Old Mexico. I was took down with fever, and they nursed me at a monastery. I caught on to considerable Spanish, and--well, to cut it short--I got religion. But as far as my past record goes, maybe just because I've got the name of being so mean and troublesome, there are some men here-abouts that would hearken to my counsel when they wouldn't listen to a better man." He paused and sat staring absently across the river, but his eyes were taking in everything, and, as he turned his grave glance on his auditors, he was keenly studying their faces. "What plan did you have to propose?" inquired Henry Falkins. "It's this way," came the prompt reply. "There are just two men in this country that can talk to a Spooner an' a Falkins alike an' be hearkened to by both. You are the two men. But there are a few Spooners that won't even listen to you--and they are the meanest of the lot. It's the meanest men that make the most trouble--and these are the men that will listen to me. If we three are in town Saturday--" "If you are in town Saturday, mingling with the Spooners and inflaming the Falkinses, the entire state militia couldn't maintain order," broke out old McAllister with vehement heat. "Now, wait a minute!" And not for one minute, but ten, the returned exile talked. As they listened, the father and son saw unfold a plan of unexampled boldness and danger, particularly of danger to its proposer, but as it outlined and developed itself they began to see also a dawn of hope. The very effrontery of the thing might carry it through peril to success.