“You were drinking illegal liquor in a blind tiger, and if you didn't bring it you can prove that later. Anyhow, we'll want you as a witness,” and Hale looked at the other mountaineer, who had turned his eyes quickly to Dave. Caliban led the way with young Dave, and Hale walked side by side with them while Bob was escort for the other two. The road ran along a high bank, and as Bob was adjusting the jangling weapons on his left arm, the strange mountaineer darted behind him and leaped headlong into the tops of thick rhododendron. Before Hale knew what had happened the lad's pistol flashed. “Stop, boy!” he cried, horrified. “Don't shoot!” and he had to catch the lad to keep him from leaping after the runaway. The shot had missed; they heard the runaway splash into the river and go stumbling across it and then there was silence. Young Dave laughed: “Uncle Judd'll be over hyeh to-morrow to see about this.” Hale said nothing and they went on. At the door of the calaboose Dave balked and had to be pushed in by main force. They left him weeping and cursing with rage. “Go to bed, Bob,” said Hale. “Yes, sir,” said Bob; “just as soon as I get my lessons.” Hale did not go to the boarding-house that night--he feared to face June. Instead he went to the hotel to scraps of a late supper and then to bed. He had hardly touched the pillow, it seemed, when somebody shook him by the shoulder. It was Macfarlan, and daylight was streaming through the window. “A gang of those Falins are here,” Macfarlan said, “and they're after young Dave Tolliver--about a dozen of 'em. Young Buck is with them, and the sheriff. They say he shot a man over the mountains yesterday.” Hale sprang for his clothes--here was a quandary. “If we turn him over to them--they'll kill him.” Macfarlan nodded. “Of course, and if we leave him in that weak old calaboose, they'll get more help and take him out to-night.” “Then we'll take him to the county jail.” “They'll take him away from us.” “No, they won't. You go out and get as many shotguns as you can find and load them with buckshot.” Macfarlan nodded approvingly and disappeared. Hale plunged his face in a basin of cold water, soaked his hair and, as he was mopping his face with a towel, there was a ponderous tread on the porch, the door opened without the formality of a knock, and Devil Judd Tolliver, with his hat on and belted with two huge pistols, stepped stooping within. His eyes, red with anger and loss of sleep, were glaring, and his heavy moustache and beard showed the twitching of his mouth. “Whar's Dave?” he said shortly. “In the calaboose.” “Did you put him in?” “Yes,” said Hale calmly. “Well, by God,” the old man said with repressed fury, “you can't git him out too soon if you want to save trouble.”