“Yes, thar is, Jess, you can’t fool me that a-way. I know thar is somethin’ in thar to ketch the old man.” “No thar ain’t, I pledge you my honour thar ain’t.” “Well, Jess, if thar ain’t, you jest go in and see, and show Uncle Josey that you ain’t afeared.” “Certainly, I ain’t afeared to go in.” Saying which the sheriff opened the door, leaving the key in the lock. “Now, Uncle Josey, what did I tell you? I know’d thar wan’t nothin’ in thar.” “May be thar ain’t where you are standin’, but jest le’s see you go up into that dark place, in the corner.” “Well, Uncle Josey,” said the unsuspecting sheriff, “I’ll satisfy you thar ain’t nothin’ thar either,” and he walked towards the “dark corner.” As he did so, the old man dexterously closed the door and locked it. “Hello! thar,” yelled the frightened officer, “none o’ yer tricks, Uncle Josey; this is carryin’ the joke a cussed sight too fur.” “Joke! I ain’t a jokin’, Jess; never was more in yearnest in my life. Thar ain’t nothin’ in thar to hurt you though, that’s one consolation. Jest hold on a little while, and I’ll send some of the boys down to let you out.” And before the “sucked in” sheriff had recovered from his astonishment, the pony and his master were out of hearing. Uncle Josey, who was not as drunk as he appeared, stopped at the grocery, took a drink, again mounted the Gin’ral, and called the keeper of the grocery to him—at the same time drawing the key of the jail from his pocket. “Here, Jeems, take this here key, and ef the old man or any them boys up thar at the Court-House inquires after Jess Bunion, the sheriff, jest you give ’em this key and my compliments, and tell ’em Jess is safe. Ketch ’em takin’ in old Uncle Josey, will yer? Git up, Gin’ral, these boys here won’t do to trust; so we’ll go into the country, whar people’s honest if they _is_ poor.” The sheriff, after an hour’s imprisonment, was released, and severely reprimanded by the judge, but the sentence of Uncle Josey was never executed, as he never troubled the Court again, and the judge thought it useless to imprison him with any hope of its effecting the slightest reform. XXIV. THE MUSCADINE STORY. It was a bland September morning, in a year that need not be specified, that the Captain, standing in view of the west door of the Court-House at Dadeville, perceived the sheriff emerging therefrom, a bundle of papers in hand, and looking as if he desired to execute some sort of a _capias_. The Captain instantly bethought him, that there was an indictment pending against himself for gaming, and began to collect his energies for an emergency. The sheriff hailed him at the same moment, and requested him to “hold on.” “Stop, Ellis—_right thar_ in your tracks, as the bullet said to the buck,” Suggs responded; “them dockyments look _venermous_!”