“I thought I'd come and see what kind of law a body gets at this here co't of yours,” the patriarch explained to Mr. Balaam, who, forgetting his lumbago, had hurried forth to greet him. “But why did you fetch your gun, Uncle Sammy?” asked the magistrate, laughing. “Hit were to be on the safe side, Squire. Where air them Blounts?” “Them Blounts don't need to bother you none. There air only Dave, and he can't more than half see out of one eye to-day.” The squire's court held its infrequent sittings in the best room of the Balaam homestead, a double cabin of hewn logs. Here Scratch Hill was gratified with a view of Mr. Blount's battered visage, and it was conceded that his condition reflected creditably on Yancy's physical prowess and was of a character fully to sustain that gentleman's reputation; for while he was notoriously slow to begin a fight, he was reputed to be even more reluctant to leave off once he had become involved in one. “What's all this here fuss between you and Bob Yancy?” demanded the squire when he had administered the oath to Blount. Mr. Blount's statement was brief and very much to the point. He had been hired by Mr. Bladen, of Fayetteville, to go to Scratch Hill and get the boy who had been temporarily placed in Yancy's custody at the time of General Quintard's death. “Stop just there!” cried the magistrate, leveling a pudgy finger at Blount. “This here co't is already cognizant of certain facts bearing on that p'int. The boy was left with Bob Yancy mainly because nobody else would take him. Them's the facts. Now go on!” he finished sternly. “I only know what Bladen told me,” said Blount sullenly. “Well, I reckon Mr. Bladen ought to feel obliged to tell the truth,” said the squire. “He done give me the order from the judge of the co't--I was to show it to Bob Yancy--” “Got that order?” demanded the squire sharply. With a smile, damaged, but clearly a smile, Blount produced the order. “Hmm--app'inted guardeen of the boy--” the squire was presently heard to murmur. The crowded room was very still now, and more than one pair of eyes were turned pityingly in Yancy's direction. When the long arm of the law reached out from Fayetteville, where there was a real judge and a real sheriff, it clothed itself with very special terrors. The boy looked up into Yancy's face. That tense silence had struck a chill through his heart. “It's all right,” whispered Yancy reassuringly, smiling down upon him. And Hannibal, comforted, smiled back, and nestled his head against his Uncle Bob's side. “Well, Mr. Blount, what did you do with this here order?” asked the squire. “I went with it to Scratch Hill,” said Blount. “And showed it to Bob Yancy?” asked the squire. “No, he wa'n't there. But the boy was, and I took him in my buggy and drove off. I'd got as far as the Ox Road forks when I met Yancy--”