“Nothing could please me half so well,” he declared. He turned to the others. “Gentlemen, this is a private matter. When I have met Colonel Fentress I shall make a public announcement of why this appeared necessary to me; until then I trust this matter will not be given publicity. May I ask your silence?” He bowed again, and abruptly passed from the room. His three friends followed in his steps, leaving Fentress standing by the table, the ghost of a smile on his thin lips. As if the very place were evil, the judge hurried down the drive toward the road. At the gate he paused and turned on his companions, but his features wore a look of dignity that forbade comment or question. He held out his hand to Yancy. “Sir,” he said, “if I could command the riches of the Indies, it would tax my resources to meet the fractional part of my obligations to you.” “Think of that!” said Yancy, as much overwhelmed by the judge's manner as by his words. “His Uncle Bob shall keep his place in my grandson's life! We'll watch him grow into manhood together.” The judge was visibly affected. A smile of deep content parted Mr. Yancy's lips as his muscular fingers closed about the judge's hand with crushing force. “Whoop!” cried Cavendish, delighted at this recognition of Yancy's love for the boy, and he gleefully smote the austere Mahaffy on the shoulder. But Mahaffy was dumb in the presence of the decencies, he quite lacked an interpreter. The judge looked back at the house. “Mine!” he muttered. “The clothes he stands in, the food he eats--mine! Mine!” CHAPTER XXX. THE BUBBLE BURSTS At about the same hour that the judge was hurling threats and insults at Colonel Fentress, three men were waiting ten miles away at the head of the bayou which served to isolate Hicks' cabin. Now no one of these three had ever heard of Judge Slocum Price; the breath of his fame had never blown, however gently, in their direction, yet they were preparing to thrust opportunity upon him. To this end they were lounging about the opening in the woods where the horses belonging to Ware and Murrell were tied. At length the dip of oars became audible in the silence and one of the trio stole down the path, a matter of fifty yards, to a point that overlooked the bayou. He was gone but a moment. “It's Murrell all right!” he said in an eager whisper. “Him and another fellow--the Hicks girl is rowing them.” He glanced from one to the other of his companions, who seemed to take firmer hold of themselves under his eye. “It'll be all right,” he protested lightly. “He's as good as ours. Wait till I give you the word.” And he led the way into an adjacent thicket. Meantime Ware and Murrell had landed and were coming along the path, the outlaw a step or two in advance of his friend. They reached the horses and were untying them when the thicket suddenly disgorged the three men; each held a cocked pistol; two of these pistols covered Murrell and the third was leveled at Ware.