The doctor rose slowly, looking very large and limp as he stood solemnly confronting the little dame. “Mrs. Strobe,” he demanded, “what was done to this man?” “Why, law, doctor, you-uns know!” she cried. “Teck Jepson jes’ rid him down, an’ bust his head open, an’”— “Woman,” he thundered, “this man has been drugged!” Mrs. Strobe quailed. She would not have believed the discovery possible to his vaunted science. “Jes’ a leetle yerb tea,” she faltered. He stared at her, baffled, and doubting if it were possible to elicit the truth from her. He knitted his bare brows, for his wig was far back on his bald poll. The mystery of it all stemmed for the time the rising tide of his tumultuous indignation. “Why didn’t you give him the powders I left, as directed?” he demanded. “Law, doctor, they couldn’t make no diff’unce,—that thar leetle trash stuff.” The doctor’s bald head flushed to the nape of his neck. Despite his scanty consideration of people who were in the enjoyment of full health, he could not strike Mrs. Strobe. There was only one course open to him, professionally speaking. “I give up the case. I will not be responsible,” he sputtered, stooping down to pick up his saddle-bags. Suddenly he caught sight of the wan, haggard, sleeping face on the pillow, and the loyalty of a whole life flamed up anew toward its object. “No, I won’t,—I won’t, neither! I won’t leave my patient to be murdered amongst you. Yes, murdered!” he vociferated; “for if my directions and my medicines are tampered with again, and my patient dies, I’ll have you every one indicted for murder; you hear me,—for _murder_! Poisoning my patient!” He wagged his half-draped head with a knowing look. He had not lived in this world so long as not to be aware of the terror that the ignorant have of that unknown, unmeasured force, the law. Even the doughty Mrs. Strobe seemed very small and wizened, as she contemplated the prospect. He followed up his advantage: “Come here!”—he turned to Marcella; “you look like you have some sense. I’ll leave my directions with you, and you see you carry them out. Do just as I say. Think I won’t know it if you don’t, as soon as I get here?” “Mighty apt, sure,” Mrs. Strobe conceded, in a conciliatory tone. But the big doctor, who seemed, as he stood about, to occupy more than his share of the little cabin, only gave a snort of derisive rage at this overture, and prepared his medicines in stern and puffing silence. He was still breathless when he gathered up his saddle-bags and started toward the door. He came back, and looked in again to say, with a threatening air, when he would repeat his visit; and they presently heard the ambling hoof-beats of his horse that took him up the turn-row, and so away.