"SIR: I arrived in this county yesterday, and am prepared, if called
as a witness, to give to the Grand Jury full and true particulars of
the murder of Jesse Purvy and the killing of Aaron Hollis. I am willing
to come under escort of my own kinsmen, or of the militiamen, as the
Court may advise.
"The requirement of any bodyguard, I deplore, but in meeting my legal
obligations, I do not regard it as necessary or proper to walk into a
trap.
"Respectfully, SAMSON SOUTH."
Smithers looked perplexedly at Judge Hollman.
"Shall I have him come?" he inquired.
Hollman threw the letter down on his desk with a burst of blasphemy: "Have him come?" he echoed. "Hell and damnation, no! What do we want
him to come here and spill the milk for? When we get ready, we'll
indict him. Then, let your damned soldiers go after him--as a criminal,
not a witness. After that, we'll continue this case until these
outsiders go away, and we can operate to suit ourselves. We don't fall
for Samson South's tricks. No, sir; you never got that letter! It
miscarried. Do you hear? You never got it."
Smithers nodded grudging acquiescence. Most men would rather be
independent officials than collar-wearers.
Out on Misery Samson South had gladdened the soul of his uncle with
his return. The old man was mending, and, for a long time, the two had
talked. The failing head of the clan looked vainly for signs of
degeneration in his nephew, and, failing to find them, was happy.
"Hev ye decided, Samson," he inquired, "thet ye was right in yer
notion 'bout goin' away?"
Samson sat reflectively for a while, then replied: "We were both right, Uncle Spicer--and both wrong. This is my place,
but if I'm to take up the leadership it must be in a different fashion.
Changes are coming. We can't any longer stand still."
Spicer South lighted his pipe. He, too, in these last years, had seen
in the distance the crest of the oncoming wave. He, too, recognized
that, from within or without, there must be a regeneration. He did not
welcome it, but, if it must come, he preferred that it come not at the
hands of conquerors, but under the leadership of his own blood.
"I reckon there's right smart truth to that," he acknowledged. "I've
been studyin' 'bout hit consid'able myself of late. Thar's been sev'ral
fellers through the country talkin' coal an' timber an' railroads--an'
sich like."
Sally went to mill that Saturday, and with her rode Samson. There,
besides Wile McCager, he met Caleb Wiley and several others. At first,
they received him sceptically, but they knew of the visit to Purvy's
store, and they were willing to admit that in part at least he had
erased the blot from his escutcheon. Then, too, except for cropped hair
and a white skin, he had come back as he had gone, in homespun and
hickory. There was nothing highfalutin in his manners. In short, the
impression was good.