The scattered comments subsided the moment a step sounded upon the rungs of the ladder. As Teck Jepson emerged through the aperture in the floor, glancing up at the silent figures grouped about, watching his ascent, there seemed something in his eye which coerced apparent acquiescence, and in this fostered a sort of subservient dissimulation toward him. His grave “Howdy, neighbors,” in his low, melancholy drawl, evoked a friendly “Howdy, Teck,” which seemed to express all the good-fellowship of approving welcome. Only Dake stood silent and morose, retaining in his manner something of the sentiment which had animated the coterie before Jepson’s entrance. He could not have expressed a categorical opinion of Jepson’s character, but was aware of his acute observation and his alert divination of motive, and felt sure that he could not have failed to notice the chill protest and displeasure in the single exception to the cordiality of the greetings. Thus Jepson’s lofty indifference and serenity impressed him as in the nature of a triumphant retort, and presently Dake broke forth angrily: “What air yer notion, Teck Jepson, ter kem ter a secret meetin’, a-tromplin’ an’ a-jinglin’ with spurs through the woods, an’ ridin’ of yer horse ez goes whinnyin’ fur corn inter the stable. Ef I war Clem, I wouldn’t give him nare grain. Ef them men hev enny ears, they air bound ter hear ye an’ take a warnin’. I b’lieve ye air in league with ’em.” Jepson turned slowly upon him. “I b’lieve I’ll throw ye out’n that winder,” he said deliberately. There was a hasty cry of protest from the group, and several interposed between the two. “Naw, Teck, naw; ye mustn’t git a-fightin’, ye an’ Gid!” exclaimed the father of the seven, with a patriarchal air which became him well at home, and in view of his seniority did not seem out of place here. “Ye know, boys, we-uns hev got tergether ter hold up the right, whether the law will tote its e-end or no. It air fur the good an’ the peace o’ the kentry. We can’t gin our cornsent ter wickedness goin’ on an’ dodgin’ its due, but we’ll meet up with it an’ medjure it, sure. ’Twon’t do, ter git ter quar’lin’, so jestice will be frustrated both in the courts an’ out’n ’em. Ef the arm o’ the law be got so spindlin’ an’ puny ez it can’t take holt an’ deal jestice, but flops par’lytic in the empty air, the people air strong yit, an’ ain’t goin’ ter suffer no wrong-doin’. Naw, sir!” He uttered this with a sing-song delivery, reminiscent of the pulpit of the circuit rider, his voice rising and falling in alternate waves and with rhythmical cadences; then he suddenly assumed an indescribably coaxing tone, that had often proved exceedingly efficacious with recalcitrant small girls.