“An’ it hev been tole ter me ez the f ambly want Teck Jepson arrested fur unlawfully ridin’ a race, an’ ridin’ down an’ injurin’ Eli Strobe whilst doin’ this unlawful act.” They were all silent, revolving this succinct statement, and adjusting the circumstances thus set forth to their own consciousness of the facts. “Now,” continued Wright, “ef ye’ll complain agin him, I’ll arrest Jepson an’ git him c’mitted, an’ land him in jail in Colb’ry ter await the event.” “_Me_ want ter jail Teck Jepson fur runnin’ a horse along a plain road?” cried the old woman. “Ef ye warn’t a stranger, sir, I’d tell ye ez ye air a crazy buzzard.” “Yes’m,” said the deputy, sanely agreeing in her view. “Eli got hurt by accident, through bein’ too sharp-set ter arrest folks fur nuthin’, an’ Teck war his bes’ friend in the ’lection. He couldn’t pull up his horse. Naw, sir; wait till Eli gits better or wuss.” “That’s yer conclusion, ma’am?” said the officer, visibly relieved. Then he glanced at Marcella. She stood silent, intent, pondering. The young man’s eyes lingered. “Do his darter want Jepson arrested?” he asked, seeking an added respect in using the third person. Marcella did not answer. That brooding dubitation was still on her face, and her eyes were full of untranslated meanings. “Speak, chile,” urged her grandmother, tartly. The man’s inquiring eyes still lingered; Marcella suddenly raised her own. She looked at him for a moment, and slowly shook her head. A deep flush overspread her face, and she turned hastily within.