"There's the rub," he protested, reading aloud: "'The military shall
be at all times, and in all cases, in strict subordination to the civil
power.'"
The Governor glanced down to the next paragraph, and read in part:
"'The Governor may direct the commanding officer of the military force
to report to any one of the following-named officers of the district in
which the said force is employed: Mayor of a city, sheriff, jailer or
marshal.'"
"Which list," stormed Callomb, "is the honor roll of the assassins."
"At all events"--the Governor had derived from Callomb much
information as to Samson South which the mountaineer himself had
modestly withheld--"South gets his pardon. That is only a step. I wish
I could make him satrap over his province, and provide him with troops
to rule it. Unfortunately, our form of government has its drawbacks."
"It might be possible," ventured the Attorney General, "to impeach the
Sheriff, and appoint this or some other suitable man to fill the
vacancy until the next election."
"The Legislature doesn't meet until next winter," objected Callomb.
"There is one chance. The Sheriff down there is a sick man. Let us hope
he may die."
One day, the Hixon conclave met in the room over Hollman's Mammoth
Department Store, and with much profanity read a communication from
Frankfort, announcing the pardon of Samson South. In that episode, they
foresaw the beginning of the end for their dynasty. The outside world
was looking on, and their regime could not survive the spotlight of law
-loving scrutiny.
"The fust thing," declared Judge Hollman, curtly, "is to get rid of
these damned soldiers. We'll attend to our own business later, and we
don't want them watchin' us. Just now, we want to lie mighty quiet for
a spell--teetotally quiet until I pass the word."
Samson had won back the confidence of his tribe, and enlisted the
faith of the State administration. He had been authorized to organize a
local militia company, and to drill them, provided he could stand
answerable for their conduct. The younger Souths took gleefully to that
idea. The mountain boy makes a good soldier, once he has grasped the
idea of discipline. For ten weeks, they drilled daily in squads and
weekly in platoons. Then, the fortuitous came to pass. Sheriff Forbin
died, leaving behind him an unexpired term of two years, and Samson was
summoned hastily to Frankfort. He returned, bearing his commission as
High Sheriff, though, when that news reached Hixon, there were few men
who envied him his post, and none who cared to bet that he would live
to take his oath of office.