The Call of the Cumberlands

So, smarting under his impotency, Captain Callomb came out of his tent

one morning, and strolled across the curved bridge to the town proper.

He knew that the Grand Jury was convening, and he meant to sit as a

spectator in the court-house and study proceedings when they were

instructed.

But before he reached the court-house, where for a half-hour yet the

cupola bell would not clang out its summons to veniremen and witnesses,

he found fresh fuel for his wrath.

He was not a popular man with these clansmen, though involuntarily he

had been useful in leading their victims to the slaughter. There was a

scowl in his eyes that they did not like, and an arrogant hint of iron

laws in the livery he wore, which their instincts distrusted.

Callomb saw without being told that over the town lay a sense of

portentous tidings. Faces were more sullen than usual. Men fell into

scowling knots and groups. A clerk at a store where he stopped for

tobacco inquired as he made change: "Heered the news, stranger?"

"What news?"

"This here 'Wildcat' Samson South come back yis-tiddy, an' last

evenin' towards sundown, Jesse Purvy an' Aaron Hollis was shot dead."

For an instant, the soldier stood looking at the young clerk, his eyes

kindling into a wrathful blaze. Then, he cursed under his breath. At

the door, he turned on his heel: "Where can Judge Smithers be found at this time of day?" he demanded.