The Call of the Cumberlands

The "jail-house" was a small building of home-made brick, squatting at

the rear of the court-house yard. Its barred windows were narrow with

sills breast-high.

The court-house itself was shaded by large oaks and sycamores, and, as

Samson drew near, he saw that some ten or twelve men, armed with

rifles, separated from groups and disposed themselves behind the tree

trunks and the stone coping of the well. None of them spoke, and Samson

pretended that he had not seen them. He rode his mule at a walk,

knowing that he was rifle-covered from a half-dozen windows. At the

hitching rack directly beneath the county building, he flung his reins

over a post, and, swinging his rifle at his side, passed casually along

the brick walk to the jail. The men behind the trees edged around their

covers as he went, keeping themselves protected, as squirrels creep

around a trunk when a hunter is lurking below. Samson halted at the

jail wall, and called the prisoner's name. A towsled head and surly

face appeared at the barred window, and the boy went over and held

converse from the outside.

"How in hell did ye git into town?" demanded the prisoner.

"I rid in," was the short reply. "How'd ye git in the jail-house?"

The captive was shamefaced.

"I got a leetle too much licker, an' I was shootin' out the lights

last night," he confessed.

"What business did ye have hyar in Hixon?"

"I jest slipped in ter see a gal."

Samson leaned closer, and lowered his voice.

"Does they know thet ye shot them shoots at Jesse Purvy?"

Tamarack turned pale.

"No," he stammered, "they believe you done hit."

Samson laughed. He was thinking of the rifles trained on him from a

dozen invisible rests.

"How long air they a-goin' ter keep ye hyar?" he demanded.

"I kin git out to-morrer ef I pays the fine. Hit's ten dollars."

"An' ef ye don't pay the fine?"

"Hit's a dollar a day."

"I reckon ye don't 'low ter pay hit, do ye?"

"I 'lowed mebby ye mout pay hit fer me, Samson."

"Ye done 'lowed plumb wrong. I come hyar ter see ef ye needed help,

but hit 'pears ter me they're lettin' ye off easy."

He turned on his heel, and went back to his mule. The men behind the

trees began circling again. Samson mounted, and, with his chin well up,

trotted back along the main street. It was over. The question was

answered. The Hollmans regarded the truce as still effective. The fact

that they were permitting him to ride out alive was a wordless

assurance of that. Incidentally, he stood vindicated in the eyes of his

own people.