He walked away in one direction, and his late audience, moving slowly back toward the Occidental, divided itself on the question as to whether or not a Justice of the Peace had a right to make an arrest. Dawn found Jim Luce asleep upon his prison-cot. But by six o’clock he was well on his way toward his ranch; while by breakfast-time a check in full for back alimony was dispatched to Mrs. Luce through the medium of a small, barefooted boy who lived behind the jail. At the middle of that same morning the Judge sat at his desk, combing his hair with his fingers. His face was unwontedly pale, his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. But a calf-bound book was open before him, and he was bent over it almost doggedly. He straightened wearily as a woman entered--Mrs. Luce, her face tear-marked, her mouth bent in a disconsolate half-moon. “W’y, what’s the matter?” he asked with concern. “Ain’t Jim’s check good?” She did not answer, but hurried forward to the desk. “I want a warrant,” she cried. “I think it’s a shame and a disgrace that the constable won’t arrest him without a warrant.” “The constable must foller the law,” explained the Judge. “Set down, Mrs. Luce. Who’s your warrant for?” Her hands were clenched as if she had something hateful in their grasp. “It’s for that nice, stylish dude you’re always bragging up,” she said sarcastically. “He’s a thief, that’s what he is--a common, two-faced thief!” “Dude?” repeated the Judge, puzzled. “Mr. Homer Scott.” The Judge stared her in the face. “Hush!” he commanded sternly. “You don’t know what you’re a-sayin’.” “Oh, I don’t!” She laughed bitterly. “Well, you’ll change your mind.” “You’re a-talkin’ strong talk, Mrs. Luce. What d’ you claim he’s stole?” “My nuggets.” “How did he come to have your nuggets? Set down.” “I gave ’em to him for security. I borrowed a hundred and fifteen dollars of his peach money that day I was in here with Jim. At first I wanted him to give me the money and then dock Jim that much on his pears. But he wouldn’t do that. He made me a straight loan and asked for security. I took him my nuggets.” “He didn’t ask for ’em?” “No; it was my idea. The string was easy for him to keep in his safe.” “You didn’t take no receipt for it, I suppose?” “That’s where I made a big mistake. This morning, the second I got my check, I wrote my name across it, went down to the shipping-shed and handed it to Homer. He took it, remarked that I was ahead of time, and went on with his writing. I noticed his hand shook something terrible.” “Cigareets,” said the Judge sadly. “He learnt that in the city.”