The mayor, after the departure of his visitor, stood thoughtfully in front of the store, while his eye followed the stranger's figure dreamily up the street, and stood like one who has that whereof to ponder. It is true that he had offered to accompany the new comer on his pilgrimage, but equally true that Clark had politely but definitely declined, and it was something new for the mayor to have his suggestion thus put aside. In this case, however, he felt no resentment, and presently strolled to the house of Worden, the magistrate, where he found Worden, a large man with a small, kindly face, sitting in his study which immediately faced the lawn. On the other side was the river. Worden was apparently dividing his time between an unfinished judgment, for which there seemed no pressing demand, and a satisfying contemplation of the great stream which here was flecked with foam from the tumult above. The mayor sat for some time talking to him, surrounded by tiers of homemade shelves packed with law books, along whose tattered, leather backs Worden had a habit of running a tobacco-stained forefinger while he relighted a pipe which seemed in continual need of attention. The talk was long and earnest. The mayor's cigar went out with a smell of varnish where it lay on the edge of the judge's desk, but the two were so interested that they did not notice it. Presently Filmer got up and Worden followed him to the porch expressing entire approval of all that had been discussed, and, as Filmer struck across to the street, he returned to his study and gazed at the judgment with apparent contempt. From Worden's, the mayor walked across to the jail and sought out Manson. The latter was in his small office which seemed crowded with its single occupant's bulk, and adjoined the high forbidding walls of the jail itself. In St. Marys the chief constable was a man of place, and the jail an edifice that at times took on a singular interest, and if such a capacious establishment as it actually was might seem superfluous in Arcadia it must be remembered that in seasons of the year the lumberjacks rolled in from the northern parts with six months' wages and a great thirst that demanded to be quenched, and a perfectly natural and well meaning desire to offer combat at sight, which they generally did. Then, too, there were fugitives from justice who slipped across the river by night in canoes, and miners from the silver country far to the west, and sometimes crime was also the product of isolation.