Towers caught the crestfallen frown and repressed a twinkle of amusement. "What's ther matter, Jud? Air ye a-settin' on carpet tacks?" he inquired with even, good humor. "Or air ye jest plain skeered at ther idee of contraryin' Bear Cat Stacy?" "No, I hain't skeered of Bear Cat," lied the officer, reddening. "Ef he breaches ther peace terday I aims ter jail him fer hit ther same es anybody else." He paused, then broke out with fervor: "But he's a mighty good man ter leave alone, Kinnard. He's ther best man ter leave alone I ever met up with, an' thet's God's own blessed truth." Towers laughed. "Well, son, I aims ter be kinderly keepin' in touch with Bear Cat Stacy myself, an' ef any ruction rises a-tween ye, I'll be thar ter straighten hit out. So, if need be,--why, jest treat him like anybody else--as ye says--an' don't be narvous about hit." Ten minutes after the dejected exit of Jud White, Mark Tapper, the Revenuer, entered the front door of the Courthouse and shouldered his way aggressively among loungers who eyed him with hostile vindictiveness. Passing unchallenged between several rifle-bearers in the upper area, he entered the judge's office, where Towers sat expectantly waiting. Kinnard opened the interview by drawing forth his wallet and counting sundry bank notes into Tapper's extended palm. "Kinnard," suggested the federal sleuth irritably, "it was clearly understood between us that you were going to limit those stills you're interested in--not develop them into a damned syndicate." Towers frowned a little. "Ther more thar is of 'em ther more ye gits, don't ye?" "Yes, and where my revenue, from your hush money, increases a picayune, my peril increases--vastly. One tip to the government, and I'm ruined." "Oh, pshaw, Mark," urged Towers conciliatingly, "hit's jest an exchange of leetle favors a-tween us. There's some fellers I've got ter kinderly protect an' thar's some information ye needs ter hev in yore business--so 'stid of wagin' war on one another we trades tergether. Thet's all." For a few moments the revenue officer restlessly paced the room, then, halting before the desk, he rapped sharply with his knuckles. "Since I let myself in for this folly of selling you protection I'm not damned fool enough to try to threaten you. You can hurt me worse than I can hurt you--and have me assassinated to boot--but unless we can arrange things more to my liking, I'll get myself transferred to another district--and you'll have to begin all over again." Towers did not at once answer. When he did it was with the air of one tendering the olive branch of peace.