“You know who he is and where he is. Your business relations with General Ware have put you on the track of the Quintard lands in this state. You intend to use the boy to gather them in.” “You're mad!” repeated Fentress. “Unless you bring him to me inside of twenty-four hours I'll smash you!” roared the judge. “Your name isn't Fentress, it's Gatewood; you've stolen the name of Fentress, just as you have stolen other things. What's come of Turberville's wife and child? What's come of Turberville's money? Damn your soul! I want my grandson! I'll pull you down and leave you stripped and bare! I'll tell the world the false friend you've been--the thief you are! I'll strip you and turn you out of these doors as naked as when you entered the world!” The judge seemed to tower above Fentress, the man had shot up out of his deep debasement. “Choose! Choose!” he thundered, his shaggy brows bent in a menacing frown. “I know nothing about the boy,” said Fentress slowly. “By God, you lie!” stormed the judge. “I know nothing about the boy,” and Fentress took a step toward the door. “Stay where you are!” commanded the judge. “If you attempt to leave this room to call your niggers I'll kill you on its threshold!” But Yancy and Cavendish had stepped to the door with an intention that was evident, and Fentress' thin face cast itself in haggard lines. He was feeling the judge's terrible capacity, his unexpected ability to deal with a supreme situation. Even Mahaffy gazed at his friend in wonder. He had only seen him spend himself on trifles, with no further object than the next meal or the next drink; he had believed that as he knew him so he had always been, lax and loose of tongue and deed, a noisy tavern hero, but now he saw that he was filling what must have been the measure of his manhood. “I tell you I had no hand in carrying off the boy,” said Fentress with a sardonic smile. “I look to you to return him. Stir yourself, Gatewood, or by God, I'll hold so fierce a reckoning with you--” The sentence remained unfinished, for Fentress felt his overwrought nerves snap, and giving way to a sudden blind fury struck at the judge. “We are too old for rough and tumble,” said the judge, who had displayed astonishing agility in avoiding the blow. “Furthermore we were once gentlemen. At present I am what I am, while you are a hound and a blackguard! We'll settle this as becomes our breeding.” He poured himself a second glass of liquor from Fentress' decanter. “I wonder if it is possible to insult you,” and he tossed glass and contents in Fentress' face. The colonel's thin features were convulsed. The judge watched him with a scornful curling of the lips. “I am treating you better than you deserve,” he taunted. “To-morrow morning at sun-up at Boggs' racetrack!” cried Fentress. The judge bowed with splendid courtesy.