The Preacher tried in vain to bring the perpetrators of this outrage on Nelse to justice. He identified six of them positively. They were arrested, and when put on trial immediately discharged by the judge who was himself a member of the League that had ordered Nelse whipped. ***** Tom Camp’s daughter was now in her sixteenth year and as plump and winsome a lassie, her Scotch mother declared, as the Lord ever made. She was engaged to be married to Hose Norman, a gallant poor white from the high hill country at the foot of the mountains. Hose came to see her every Sunday riding a black mule, gaily trapped out in martingales with red rings, double girths to his saddle and a flaming red tassel tied on each side of the bridle. Tom was not altogether pleased with his future son-in-law. He was too wild, went to too many frolics, danced too much, drank too much whiskey and was too handy with a revolver. “Annie, child, you’d better think twice before you step off with that young buck,” Tom gravely warned his daughter as he stroked her fair hair one Sunday morning while she waited for Hose to escort her to church. “I have thought a hundred times, Paw, but what’s the use. I love him. He can just twist me ’round his little finger. I’ve got to have him.” “Tom Camp, you don’t want to forget you were not a saint when I stood up with you one day,” cried his wife with a twinkle in her eye. “That’s a fact, ole woman,” grinned Tom. “You never give me a day’s trouble after I got hold of you. Sometimes the wildest colts make the safest horses.” “Yes, that’s so. It’s owing to who has the breaking of ’em,” thoughtfully answered Tom. “I like Hose. He’s full of fun, but he’ll settle down and make her a good husband.” The girl slipped close to her mother and squeezed her hand. “Do you love him much, child?” asked her father. “Well enough to live and scrub and work for him and to die for him, I reckon.” “All right, that settles it, you’re too many for me, you and Hose and your Maw. Get ready for it quick. We’ll have the weddin’ Wednesday night. This home is goin’ to be sold Thursday for taxes and it will be our last night under our own roof. We’ll make the best of it.” It was so fixed. On Wednesday night Hose came down from the foothills with three kindred spirits, and an old fiddler to make the music. He wanted to have a dance and plenty of liquor fresh from the mountain-dew district. But Tom put his foot down on it. “No dancin’ in my house, Hose, and no licker,” said Tom with emphasis. “I’m a deacon in the Baptist church. I used to be young and as good lookin’ as you, my boy, but I’ve done with them things. You’re goin’ to take my little gal now. I want you to quit your foolishness and be a man.” “I will, Tom, I will. She is the prettiest sweetest little thing in this world, and to tell you the truth I’m goin’ to settle right down now to the hardest work I ever did in my life.”