Читать книгу The Land is Bright - Jim Kjelgaard - Страница 4

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Ling Stewart went into the predawn blackness to harness the horse while his wife, Ann, remained at the breakfast table. The steadily burning candle softly illumined part of the long table and cast a little circle of light on either side, but the far corners of the room remained in shadow. As she sat there, Ann read in those dim shadows a portent of things to be.

Several days ago, William Bodine, a Wetherly merchant, had tried to cheat Ling out of part of a bale of furs that Ling had offered for sale. Doubtless, after following his usual practice of asking hunters to help themselves at the whiskey barrel, Bodine had carried the bale of furs into a rear room, stolen five deer skins and three fox pelts and claimed they had never been present. Ling had reacted characteristically and knocked Bodine down. Day before yesterday, the sheriff from the next county, whose court served the area, had ridden up to inform Ling that Bodine had preferred charges of felonious assault and that he, Ling Stewart, would have to answer those charges in Denbury Court. Ann had expected a felonious assault on the sheriff himself, and she had been enormously relieved when Ling merely listened amiably. When he told her that he intended to obey the summons, she was dizzy with astonishment.

Now they were readying themselves for the trip into Denbury, some fifteen miles distant, and Ling's day in court.

Ann rose, and with efficient economy of movement brought about by long practice, gathered up the dishes and put them in a pan. She stooped to swing the hook that held a kettle of warm water over the fire, laid a folded cloth on her hand and poured the water over the dishes. Then she opened a door that led into an adjoining room, bent over the nearest of two small beds and whispered, "Jeffrey!"

The child in the far bed awakened first and called out, "Mama?"

Ann sighed inwardly. Her husband was the most skillful hunter in Hobbs Creek, a community of hunters. Just past three years of age, baby Ling was wide awake at a sound that had failed even to disturb his older brother; he was his father reborn. Ann said softly, "Go back to sleep, Lingo."

"Yes, Mama."

He lay down but not to sleep, for the candle's light showed his bright eyes fixed steadily on her. Ann whispered a second time, "Jeffrey!"

Now he, too, was suddenly awake and alert, with no pause between sleep and wakefulness. Raiding Cherokees and renegade white men might occasionally prowl here, and even small children learned early that the difference between drowsy and instant wakening could mean the difference between dying and living. Far more gentle than his brother, resembling Ann as much as the younger boy resembled Ling, he spoke softly, "Yes, Mama?"

"Papa and I will be gone all day. It's much too early for you to get up, but when the time comes tell Gramp to fix breakfast eggs for you, Lingo and himself. Tell him to serve milk, cornbread and butter with it. After breakfast he is to wash the dishes. Then he is to feed and milk the cows . . ." She recited, very precisely, the chores to be done, concluding with, "Then he is to go to bed and you must tuck Lingo in."

"I put myself to bed," baby Ling declared.

"Hush!" Ann breathed. "After Lingo is in bed, you are to tuck yourself in. Do you understand, darling?"

"I must tell Gramps to cook breakfast eggs for me, Ling and himself, and to have . . ." He repeated exactly what she'd said and Ann listened patiently. When he finished, she said fondly, "That's my darling! Go back to sleep now."

She stooped to kiss him and crossed to the other bed to kiss her younger son, urging him back to sleep. Then she tiptoed from the room and softly closed the door behind her. A throbbing excitement stole some of her nervous fear. Lighting her way with the candle, she went into the bedroom she shared with Ling. She opened a trunk and took from it a gown, a beribboned bonnet and a coat that had been very smart ten years ago.

Slipping out of her gingham house dress, Ann put on the gown and while she reveled in the luxury of silk and velvet, she gave silent thanks for a stubborn little whim that she had insisted on pursuing. She had gone nowhere in ten years and there had seemed no faint possibility that she would go anywhere, but it had given her soul a necessary balm to keep the best of the adolescent Ann's clothing for the woman she had become. Ruthlessly destroying one garment to piece out another, over the years she had watched the extensive wardrobe that Enos had provided shrink to two gowns, the coat, five bonnets and a scattered heap of remnants. She smoothed the gown, slipped into the coat, tilted the bonnet on her blue-black curls and suddenly and mightily wished for a full-length mirror.

There was none, but Ann's imagination created one. She stepped lightly in front of it, turned, pirouetted. Then the front door opened and Ling came in.

Hastily she caught up the candle, returned to the other room and stifled a giggle. Ling was tall, dark, lean and graceful, and Ann had always thought his eyes wonderfully gentle until she had discovered how swiftly storms could arise within them. But now he was wide-eyed and clumsily gawking as he stared at her.

"My gosh!" he blurted. "My gosh, Ann! You're pretty's a yearlin' doe on new spring grass!"

"Do you like it?" she asked, smiling.

His engaging grin flashed. "'Cept for one thing."

"And what is that?"

"I'd best tote along a club to beat off them young Denbury bucks."

"Of course!" she teased. "You'll need one in each hand."

"Ready?"

"All ready."

She hoped he couldn't hear her sigh of relief when he came to her side without even glancing at the firearms rack. He seldom went anywhere without a gun, even out to split wood in the barn, and she dreaded the possible consequences if he entered Denbury armed. The fact that he obviously intended to go unarmed made more complex a situation that was already bewildering. Ann sought the reason and presently found it.

Ling was condescendingly tolerant at best, and scathingly contemptuous at worst, of anyone who submitted to restriction in any form. He considered the residents of Denbury and all other towns to be some rather low form of life which happened to look human. This life couldn't possibly be human because, in Ling's opinion, no man would ever relinquish a fraction of the freedom to be found in the wilderness for any security that could be had in town. Town-dwellers were his enemies and as such they might turn on him, but they were such puny creatures that he need not bother to go armed among them.

Given reason, Ling would attack anyone, including the judge of Denbury Court, with his fists. But at least he wasn't likely to kill anyone, and with that comforting thought Ann walked outside toward the carriage.

Having been in a stall all night, the horse felt rambunctious and showed his feelings by vigorously pawing the earth. The black carriage was only dimly seen in the dark, but when Ling turned a blanket aside, a lantern glowed from beneath it. "All right, honey. Get in," he said.

She climbed into the seat, turning her face from the raw wind as she did so, but when Ling got in on the other side and drew the blanket over them, the lantern's heat warmed her legs and feet. She looked wonderingly at her husband. He would never have thought of the lantern if he had been going alone, but he had considered her comfort.

Ling caught up the reins, the horse trotted forward and Ann meditated on her own part in this curious adventure. She had assented readily when he asked her to come with him, but she had wondered then, and wondered still, why he wanted her along.

In the twenty-one years since his father brought him to Hobbs Creek, Ling had visited no settlement larger than Wetherly. With four hundred-odd residents, it was the largest settlement in the county. In the woods he was master. But for all his braggadocio and superiority to townsmen, and for all the bulldog courage that bade him face his enemies wherever they might be, he quailed because he must venture into a town he had never visited. She'd wondered why he wanted her along! Why, he'd rather face ten angry bears than face the judge of Denbury Court alone. She could not hide a chuckle.

"What's funny?" he asked.

"You going meekly in to answer a sheriff's summons."

"Bodine ain't goin' to face me down!"

"More to the point, and more important, you're going to defend a point of justice where it should be defended—in court."

He said uncomprehendingly, "Uh huh."

They left the valley, climbed a forested hill and broke into the Pollard clearing. Ann saw her father's house, the scholarly retreat Enos had planned and caused to be built, softly beautiful among shadows. Sometimes the house was a place of horror from which she shrank. Sometimes the sight of it brought back happy memories of another and very different life, long, long ago. This was such a time, and Ann's serene and happy mood held until they left the clearing.

Presently the warmth of the lantern and the monotonous motion of the carriage made her drowsy. She nodded, awakened and nodded again. At last she slept with her head on Ling's shoulder.

When the sun had fully risen, they had left the mountains behind them, crossed the broad and sluggish Connicon River and entered the wide plateau of Denbury County. Here the land was green and fertile, plantation country. Their road paralleled the Connicon and now and then they passed a stately mansion across the river which faced the willow trees lining the riverbank. On their side of the river the houses were less grand and the fields more indifferently kept.

"I thought there were no poor planters," Ann said, by now wide awake and looking about eagerly.

Ling grinned. This plantation was poor only in comparison with the lavish establishments on the other side of the river. "Didn't you take to mind how all the rest front right on the river and got their own wharfs? They can tote their corn an' wheat an' tobacco on river boats and have an easy haul to that agent's warehouse we passed a ways back."

"Tom Dare," Ann quoted from the sign she had seen on the warehouse.

"Well, this fella here has got to tote all his crops on wagons because he's too far from the river, and that costs. He jest can't handle as much."

Ann marveled at Ling. Probably these were the first plantations he had ever seen; he could neither read nor write; but he had acute powers of observation, and he could analyze what he had observed. She wondered suddenly what heights he might have achieved if he had had an education. And then at the sight of the loveliest plantation they had yet passed, she gasped with pleasure and lost herself in looking. The house, surrounded by spacious lawns and huge trees, was set well back from the river, its rosy brick overgrown with ivy and its windows sparkling in the morning sun.

"Look, Ling! Look!"

"Sure is mighty nice."

"Quail Wings it's called," Ann said reading from the sign on the wharf.

"Mighty nice name, too," Ling said. "But none suits me like the house your Dad built up in the mountains. That is the prettiest house I ever did see."

"It was once," Ann answered quietly.

Soon they approached the town of Denbury itself, and the wonders to be seen came one on top of another. It seemed no time at all before they were in Denbury and Ann gasped, "Oh, Ling—look!"

"Right sweet," Ling acknowledged. "But they walked as if they'd been hobbled."

Ann did not answer. She was hungrily watching two young ladies of fashion walking side by side down a wooden sidewalk. They were slim, sparkling, vibrant as young people should be. Above and beyond that, and infinitely more important, they were town-dwellers. As she watched, they entered a shop beneath a gilt-lettered sign that read "Ladies' Clothing." Smaller letters under the sign announced that Mlle. Helen Fouché of Paris, France, was the proprietress. Ann glimpsed feathered bonnets and gleaming silks. She turned to gaze back wistfully until they were well past Mlle. Fouché's.

Ling's "I'll be jugged!" roused her.

They both stared wide-eyed at the splendid coach approaching them, drawn by four perfectly matched grays and manned by a liveried Negro footman and two coachmen. The windows were curtained, so they were unable to see the personage who commanded such magnificence.

"I'll be jugged!" Ling said again.

Ann breathed, "It's even more wonderful than I remembered," and then, "Look, Ling!"

Ann had discovered a hardware store, a commonplace to any townsman but a fairyland to her. Just across the street was a small shop with "Genris Darson, Carpenter" painted in black letters over the window. A Negro coming up the sidewalk stepped aside to let a white man pass.

Ann continued to gasp, to exclaim, and only by exercising rigid self-control could she keep from pointing. Ling's brief answers were entirely satisfactory; she wouldn't have heard him if he'd said anything more. But she did notice when the horse swung, turned and halted. She glanced at Ling and then followed his steady gaze.

A brick building, by far the largest and most imposing she had seen in the town of Denbury, stood well back on a lawn still green, though the surrounding maples and poplars were bare. Above its verandah, supported by white marble pillars, was a facade bearing a sculpture of blindfolded Justice eternally weighing human fate in the balance. The words "Denbury Courthouse" were chiseled into stone beneath the figure.

Ann knew instantly why they were here. Ling was following his deepest instincts. If he were going into Cherokee country, he would reconnoiter. In Denbury, he saw no reason to do otherwise.

"The paper said we're due in court at half past one?" Ling asked.

"Yes."

He glanced at the sky and said, "Must be quarter-past eleven now. Let's go."

Soon they were entering a livery stable that Ling had seen, but she had missed, on the way down. A white-haired Negro came forward.

Ling greeted him amiably. "Howdy, Cap'n."

"How do, suh."

"You care for horses here?"

"Yes, suh."

"How much?"

"Twenty fi' cents."

"Heap o' money for jest takin' care of a horse," Ling objected.

The old man rolled worried eyes. "Hit's what we gits."

"Come on, Ling," Ann pleaded. "Pay him and let's go."

He paid, but when he took her arm to escort her across the street she knew he had suffered a shock. In Hobbs Creek, if a man decided to go away, any neighbor would gladly care for his stock and ask nothing except permission to feed from the owner's stores. If he had none, they'd care for his creatures anyway and let him return the fodder when he could.

Ann stepped back into the sheer delight of just looking about her. By some magical process her body seemed able to defy the law of gravity as they entered the Denbury House, Rooms at Moderate Rates. It was she who saw the sign that indicated the dining room.

"This way."

"I'm with you."

Her conscience smote her. "You should have let me pack a lunch."

"Huh!" Three drummers sitting idly in the lobby look startled and glanced up. "We come to town, we eat at a eatin' house."

"It's very thoughtful of you."

Ling grinned. "First meal you ain't had to rustle in . . . how many years, Ann?"

They entered the dining room, the tables dazzling beneath white linen and polished dinner ware. A colored waiter with a blue jacket, a grey shirt, a small head, and incredibly long legs sheathed in yellow hose, looked so remarkably like a great blue heron waiting for an incautious frog to venture near that Ann wanted to laugh. As though he had long been immune to what might be said or done, the waiter escorted them to a table, gave each a menu and shuffled away so silently that his shoes might have had no contact with the floor. Ling pretended to study his menu, but as soon as the waiter left, he looked over it at Ann.

"What the jughead's this?" he asked, waving the menu.

"A list of the food they offer."

"They must expect a mort of company."

"Now let me see," Ann read for him. "They're serving fish, mackerel."

"Don't trust them outland fish. What else?"

"Pork pie, beef stew, choice steak . . ."

"Honest to John beefsteak?"

"Of course."

"I'll have me some," Ling declared, and almost as an afterthought he added, "How much?"

"Thirty-five cents."

"Dunno why everybody 'round here ain't rich," Ling growled, then smiled his apology. He had brought his wife to town. Let the sky be the limit.

Ann chose a chicken pie. She also ordered coffee, not because she was fond of that beverage but because coffee was a symbol of luxury. Ling looked with interest at her cup.

"What's that?"

"Coffee."

"Good?"

"Try some," she invited.

He picked up her cup, gulped a mouth full of the steaming black brew, grimaced and replaced the cup.

"Great gobs of mud! You can have it!"

Ann sipped her coffee, and tried hard to look as though she were enjoying it because Ling watched her every move. They finished with chocolate layer cake. Ling ate quickly and heartily but Ann lingered over every forkful; this memory must endure for a very long while. A third of her cake remained uneaten when he said, "Gittin' on that time."

She said reluctantly, "Then we'd better go."

She hesitated, hoping against hope that he would help her with her coat, but she stifled the sigh that threatened when he did not. She knew it had simply never occurred to Ling that a young, healthy woman needed any help in a matter as fundamental as putting on her coat. Ling paid the bill and they went back onto the street.

A cold wind blew now, and the sun had grown sickly, bathing Denbury in a mournful light. As two men passed by, Ann heard a snatch of their excited conversation.

"Lincoln's election means war! There'll be no stopping it now."

"You're dead right!" his companion agreed.

"Did you hear that, Ling?" Ann asked, when the men were some distance from them. "Those men said that Lincoln's election means war. I read about Lincoln in that newspaper you brought back from Wetherly. He wants to free the slaves and the South will fight to the last man, the paper said."

"Freein' the slaves is one thing—he can have all of mine," Ling grinned. "That sounds like planter talk to me, honey. Don't pay it no mind. Those fellers think they own all creation along with their slaves."

Side by side, they strode up the walk to the courthouse, but when Ann started to climb the marble steps she was suddenly aware that Ling was no longer at her side. When she turned she saw him standing two paces back and his eyes told her why he had halted. He was not afraid, but he neither trusted nor understood this place he was supposed to enter. Ann thought of a captured bear about to be forced into a cage, and she knew she must take command now.

She said calmly, "Coming, Ling?"

"Yeah, sure."

He joined her and remained at her side as they ascended the steps and opened the massive doors that stood between the world and Denbury Court. They looked into the spacious but austere chamber adorned only with two rather grim portraits, hung side by side, of judges who had presided here in the past. Benches filled the rear of the hall, but the only spectator was a thin, sallow man who sat five benches down and hung with breathless interest on the trial in progress. On the other side of the aisle, William Bodine and his clerk, Hendry Dexter, sat together.

Ann saw them, looked away and glanced at Ling. He had seen, too, for the fires leaped in his eyes, but he said nothing. Two benches ahead of the sallow spectator, Ann found a seat and Ling dropped beside her. She looked towards the front of the court and, after briefly noting the bailiff and the aging court clerk, fixed her eyes on the man behind the judge's bench.

She had somehow expected to find a venerable figure, an old man with a long white beard. This judge was a young man, she was surprised to see. Even sitting down, he seemed big, and it was not only his physical proportions that made him seem so. His robe of office concealed his upper body, but his head dominated as a rocky crag dominates tree-covered slopes. It was the head of a Viking, she thought, and then rejected the thought. No—it was a head of a man who stood alone. A wealth of fair hair surmounted his face—a face that compensated with strength for a lack of symmetry. Even at this distance, the judge's keen blue eyes seemed to probe Ann's innermost mind and read her thoughts. She had a sudden, powerful notion that she met this man before, so many times that they were old friends, and immediately she knew that she had not.

An older man and a spindly youth stood before him. The judge addressed the youth in a gentle voice. "Willie Matson, do you waive a trial by jury?"

"Yes—yes, sir," the young man shifted uncomfortably and turned frightened eyes to the floor.

The judge turned to the older man. "Ned Hale, what charge do you prefer?"

Hale flicked a stubby thumb at his adversary. "This'n tol' me he was a journeyman blacksmith. I hired him to shoe m' mules and he stole m' blacksmith tools."

"Is that true?" the judge asked Willie Matson.

"Yes, sir."

"Why did you steal?"

"He would not pay for the work I did."

The judge turned to Ned Hale. "Why did you refuse to pay him?"

"This'n," Ned Hale flicked his thumb again, "didn' work good."

"Were the mules improperly shod?"

"They was shod proper enough. But this'n—"

"Stop flicking your thumb!" the judge said irritably.

"Sorry y'r Honor. This'n, he took two days for a job what Lightnin' Joe'd a done in a day an' a half."

"Was a time limit stipulated?"

"Stipu—what?"

"Did Willie Matson understand, before he started working, that he was to finish in a day and a half?"

"No, y'r Honor. But Lightnin' Joe—"

"That will do," the judge said shortly. "How much did you promise to pay?"

"Two dollars a day an' found."

"And you might have hired Lightnin' Joe for a dollar a day with no found?"

"Yes, y'r Honor."

"Why didn't you hire him?"

"He's took with a misery."

The judge addressed Willie Matson. "Where are your own tools?"

"Sold in Richmon'," Willie said miserably. "I needed money for my boat fare an' to keep me 'til I got work."

"It is the order of this court," the judge pronounced, "that you, Ned Hale, pay Willie Matson the full sum you promised."

"I like that jedge!" Ling whooped, and Ann sensed that his tension had given way to admiration. He turned to the sallow spectator and bellowed, "What's the jedge's name?"

The sallow man squirmed and looked embarrassed. Ling repeated in a louder voice, "What's the jedge's name?"

The bailiff had come up the aisle so silently that he was beside Ling and had touched his shoulder before Ling even suspected he was near. Ling turned to face him.

"You must be quiet in the courtroom," the bailiff warned.

"I jest want to know the jedge's name!"

"Be quiet or I'll have you ejected from court."

"Good!" Ling chuckled. "The jedge himself wants to see me next. What's his name?"

"Judge Colin Campbell. Now be quiet."

"If you'd told me his name, I'd of been quiet long ago," Ling said amiably.

Judge Colin Campbell said caustically, "I trust the court will interrupt no one else if it proceeds with the business at hand." He turned again to Ned Hale. "Did you understand?"

"But—" the farmer protested.

"At once!" the judge ordered sternly.

Ned Hale said suddenly, "Yes, y'r Honor."

He took out his purse, pressed the required sum into the blacksmith's hand, and stamped loudly up the aisle. The judge swung to Willie Matson.

"You are to return Ned Hale's tools at once. You are not again to appear before me on any charge."

"I will, sir! I won't, sir!" Willie's formerly dejected countenance now sparkled. He tripped happily up the aisle.

The clerk removed the brief that had been on the judge's bench, gave him a second brief, and the judge bent to read. After a few minutes he straightened, nodded, and the bailiff called decorously, "William Bodine vs. Lingo Stewart."

"That's me!" Ling said happily.

He rose, and Ann gasped with disbelief at the transformation he had undergone. Ling had expected the judge to be a weakling, or, at best, another slick townsman. Instead, he had met a man who commanded his respect. He slouched easily down the aisle, halted before the bench, and said amiably, "Howdy, Jedge."

"Howdy," Colin Campbell returned pleasantly. "You're Mr.—?"

"Ling Stewart."

"I see, and is Mr. Bodine here?"

William Bodine and Hendry Dexter had followed Ling up to the bench and now they sidled unobtrusively in beside him. The merchant said, "I'm Mr. Bodine, your Honor."

"Who is this third man?"

"Hendry Dexter, my clerk and witness, your Honor. He saw everything."

"Very well. What charges do you prefer, Mr. Bodine?"

"On November 1, 1860, in the main room of my store at Wetherly, Buckshot County, with no provocation and for no reason, Lingo Stewart feloniously assaulted my person."

"It's a dirty lie!" Ling gritted.

Ann gasped, but the judge was unabashed. "You deny he charges, Mr. Stewart?"

"Not all of 'em. I basted him once and I'd o' done it five six more times 'cept he run in another room an' locked the door. But I didn't do it 'thout reason!"

"Go on. What was your reason?"

"I toted a bail of twenty-six deer skins and eleven fox pelts to sell at his store. He took the bale in back, swiped five deer skins and three fox pelts, then said they was never there."

"Is that true, Mr. Bodine?" Judge Campbell asked.

Bodine smiled tolerantly. "These mountain dwellers can neither read nor write, your Honor. Therefore they're incapable of keeping a tally except in their own minds. Almost always they think they bring me more furs than they do. I needn't remind your Honor that memory is a weak crutch."

"Did you have a tally?" the judge asked Ling.

"Bet your neck!" Ling snorted. "I kind of figgered this skunk cheated me before an' this time I wanted to make sure."

He took from his pocket an aspen stick that Ann hadn't even suspected he brought and held it up. The judge leaned forward and appeared to be interested. Ling explained his private accounting system.

"See them eleven little notches, Jedge, an' them twenty-six big 'uns? The little ones mean eleven fox pelts and the big 'uns twenty-six deer skins."

Judge Campbell took the stick, methodically counted the notches in each category, and returned the stick to Ling. He addressed Bodine.

"Do you object to testifying under oath, Mr. Bodine?"

"Why—no."

"Then I shall ask you to do so. If, after the oath has been administered, you remain willing to testify that the bale of furs was short to the numbers you stated, I shall find in your favor."

"But—"

"A mere formality," the judge's voice remained gentle, almost soothing. "But perhaps I should advise you that, if you testify falsely while under oath, you incur a mandatory prison sentence for the crime of perjury."

"I don't see—"

"Why should you hesitate, Mr. Bodine?" Campbell frowned. "Mr. Bodine, if you refuse to take the oath and testify, I can conclude only that the bale of furs and skins conformed to Mr. Stewart's count rather than yours."

"He cheated me plenty of other times!" Bodine snarled.

Ling's voice was an angry bear's growl. "It's another dirty lie!"

The judge rapped for order, waited, and addressed William Bodine. "I admire neither your methods nor your morals, Mr. Bodine, but since this is your initial appearance before this court, I am inclined to be lenient. I fine you twenty-five dollars for your sheer effrontery in attempting to prosecute a fraudulent case and for thinking you would succeed. Pay the clerk."

Bodine produced his purse, paid, and turned to go. Colin halted him.

"You are also to pay Mr. Stewart ten dollars as partial compensation for the inconvenience you have visited upon him."

Ling tucked Bodine's ten dollars into a pocket and turned his shining face to the judge. "By gosh, Jedge, never did figger to meet a 'town man' I could take a shine to!"

Judge Campbell murmured politely, "I'm flattered that you've finally met one in me."

"Sure have! Ever git up Hobbs Crick way?"

"I've missed that pleasure."

"Come!" Ling urged. "First person you meet after you git five miles past Wetherly'll tell you where I live! I'll show you the best huntin' you ever did see!"

"Hunting?" Interest leaped up in the judge's eyes and Ann thought he would have liked to talk at greater length. But he said, "I must ask you to excuse me, Mr. Stewart. I have some papers to attend to."

"Sure!" Ling boomed. "You goin' out the front way when you're through?"

"Yes."

"We'll bide a mite," Ling declared.

Ann rose to join Ling and together they went back out into the November afternoon. Presently Ann's eyes darted to a coach waiting in front of the courthouse. It was the same magnificent coach they had seen when they first came into town. But now the curtains were drawn back and she could see its occupant—a young girl.

Only her face, framed by silvery fair curls, her dainty neck and shoulders and the hand that parted the window curtain were visible. But Ann needed nothing more to tell her that this was a girl of breath-taking beauty. Even the impatience that was so evident on her face did not mar her loveliness, and the slim white hand complimented it. She was as exquisite as a china doll.

Ling, who had been regarding the girl with more than ordinary interest, exclaimed, "Pretty as a flyin' hawk, ain't she?"

The girl evidently heard these words—there was nothing subdued about Ling's voice—and hastily redrew the curtain.

"Ah! Here comes the jedge."

Colin was hatless and the wind tousled his fair hair. He was past twenty-five but probably had not yet reached his thirtieth birthday, and he walked tall and straight as a young man should.

Again Ann had a strong feeling that she had met this man not once but many times.

"Howdy, Jedge," Ling boomed.

"Oh, hello there, Mr. Stewart," Colin smiled as he came to them and shook the hand Ling extended.

"Want you should meet my wife, Jedge. Ann, this is Jedge Colin Campbell."

Colin bowed, and Ann blushed because she could not remember when a man had extended such a courtesy. Fortunately, Ling distracted Colin's attention.

"I'd as soon split this ten with you, Jedge."

"No, thank you, Mr. Stewart," Colin declined, laughing.

"Name's Lingo—Ling fer short. I just wanted to see if you was as fair and honest as I thought you were. You are," Ling explained.

Colin grinned. "I'm glad I passed the test," he said. "And I hope the citizens of Denbury and Buckshot counties will agree with you at the next election."

Ling was anxious to get onto a really interesting subject. "Speaking of Buckshot County," he said, "do you like to hunt? An' if you like to hunt have you ever been to Hobbs Creek?"

"I love to hunt, though I've done very little of it since I was a boy. And I've never been to Hobbs Creek."

"Then come! Stay on the trace after you leave Wetherly and you can't miss. We got bucks in our woods as'll make the biggest one on these river flats look piddlin' as a yearlin' fawn."

"What else do you have, Mr.—Ling?"

"Bears, catamounts, foxes, turkeys. Name it and we got it."

They were off on the enraptured conversation of two men who share a common enthusiasm. Ann waited patiently, watching the judge as he talked, looking for some clue that would tell her why she felt she had seen him before. Suddenly they were all startled by the sound of a very annoyed girlish voice calling, "Colin! Really!" They turned in the direction from which the voice came and saw the beautiful young lady staring out of the window of the coach, her blue eyes flashing.

The judge looked contrite. "Oh, Jeannie! I'm sorry. I got to talking with Ling Stewart here about bears and such, and I'm afraid I forgot that you were going to be waiting for me."

"I noticed that."

"I'll be right with you, Jeannie." To Ling he said, extending his hand, "I'll come to Hobbs Creek early next week for sure." Ushering the Stewarts towards the coach, he called to Jeannie, "I want you to meet some friends of mine."

"Another time if you don't mind." Jeannie's smile was pure ice as she slammed the door of the coach and signaled to the coachmen. As the magnificent equipage disappeared around a corner, Ann glanced at the judge's distressed face and decided that Jeannie's heart was pure china.