Before Stella reached home the town was in a ferment of excitement to know whether the Judge had given his consent to this daring act. The older heads were sure that it was a child’s thoughtless whim and that Butler would promptly and vigorously repudiate it. John stood in the shadow by the window of his office and watched her pass in anguish. He saw in this invitation the complete triumph of the man he was coming to hate with deeper loathing than he had ever felt for her father. He was sure it was an inspiration of Steve Hoyle. He observed old Larkin talking earnestly to Isaac on the other side of the street, and began to regret that the regiment of United States troops had been removed on the Carpetbagger’s advice. Were they here, he would suggest to the Judge that they be stationed about his home to-morrow night and those masked fools be kept out. He resented such a masquerade, not only because it was a travesty of the tragic drama in which he had played a part, but because he felt a deep sense of foreboding over the possible outcome of the affair. However harmless the intentions of the leaders of such a prank, there was always the chance of a drunken fool among them. “My God,” he exclaimed with a shiver of dread, “what will happen if the Judge in an ugly stupid temper encounters one of those masked fools maddened by drink!” He sat down and hastily wrote a note of warning to Butler without a signature, tore it up in anger and threw it in his waste basket. “Bah! it’s nonsense!” he muttered in rage. “Her father is in no danger. The trouble is with me--I’m jealous, jealous, jealous! of the men who can see her. I want to dance with her myself. I’m mad with a passion I dare not breathe aloud.” Yet the longer he brooded over the thing, the keener became his sense of its dangers and the more oppressive the fear that it would result in a tragedy. He sat down and rewrote his warning to the Judge, crossed the street and dropped the letter in the post office. CHAPTER IX--A COUNTER STROKE WHEN John returned to’ his desk he found Dan Wiley standing in the middle of the room pulling his long black moustache with unusual energy. The young lawyer seated himself and motioned the mountaineer to a chair. “No time ter fool.” “Steve’s gang from up in the hills in my township is on the way ter Independence. They’re goin’ ter raid old Sam Nickaroshinski, the Jew storekeeper, and rob ’im ter-night.” “Nonsense, Dan, they haven’t got that low.” “Hit’s jest like I tell ye. They’re a gang of flightin’ drunken devils. They’ll do anything. I got a man to join ’em, an’ he gimme the whole plot. Steve Hoyle don’t know nothin’ about it no more than their township leader does.” “Did you bring your men?” John asked. “Yes, a half dozen. They ain’t but six er.” “What’s up?” “Hell’s afloat and the river’s a risin!” “Well?” “Them skunks comin’. Our fellers are lyin’ out in the woods at the spring where we met you the last time.”