“He means me,” explained Balaam. “He always makes 'em out to the sheriff, but they are returned to me and I serve 'em.” Carrington resumed his reading, “Whereas, It is alleged that a murderous assault has been committed on one David Blount, of Fayetteville, by Robert Yancy, of Scratch Hill, said Blount sustaining numerous bruises and contusions, to his great injury of body and mind; and, whereas, it is further alleged that said murderous assault was wholly unprovoked and without cause, you will forthwith take into custody the person of said Yancy, of Scratch Hill, charged with having inflicted the bruises and contusions herein set forth in the complaint of said Blount, and instantly bring him into our presence to answer to these various and several crimes and misdemeanors. You are empowered to seize said Yancy wherever he may be at; whether on the hillside or in the valley, eating or sleeping, or at rest. “De Lancy Balaam, Magistrate. “Fourth District, County of Cumberland, State of North Carolina. Done this twenty-fourth day of May, 1835. “P.S. Dear Bob: Dave Blount says he ain't able to chew his meat. I thought you'd be glad to know.” Smilingly Carrington folded the warrant and handed it to Yancy. “Well, what are you goin' to do about hit, Bob?” inquired Balaam. “Maybe I'd ought to go. I'd like to oblige the squire,” said Yancy. “When does this here co't set?” demanded Uncle Sammy. “Hit don't do much else since he's took with the lumbago,” answered Balaam somewhat obscurely. “How are the squire, Charley?” asked Yancy with grave concern. “Only just tolerable, Bob.” “What did he tell you to do?” and Yancy knit his brows. “Seems like he wanted me to find out what you'd do. He recommended I shouldn't use no violence.” “I wouldn't recommend you did, either,” assented Yancy, but without heat. “I'd get shut of this here law business, Bob,” advised Uncle Sammy. “Suppose I come to the Cross Roads this evening?” “That's agreeable,” said the deputy, who presently departed in company with Carrington. Some hours later the male population of Scratch Hill, with a gravity befitting the occasion, prepared itself to descend on the Cross Roads and give its support to Mr. Yancy in his hour of need. To this end those respectable householders armed themselves, with the idea that it might perhaps be necessary to correct some miscarriage of justice. They were shy enough and timid enough, these remote dwellers in the pine woods, but, like all wild things, when they felt they were cornered they were prone to fight; and in this instance it was clearly iniquitous that Bob Yancy's right to smack Dave Blount should be questioned. That denied what was left of human liberty. But beyond this was a matter of even greater importance: they felt that Yancy's possession of the boy was somehow involved.