Peaslee expected him; nevertheless his appearance gave him a disagreeable shock. Suppose the constable had been coming for him!

"Ain't arrestin' anybody down this way, be ye?" he called, with a feeble attempt at jocularity. Perhaps, after all--

"Looks like it," said Barton, succinctly.

Mr. Peaslee stepped to the fence. "'T aint likely they'll do much to a leetle feller like that, I guess," he said, searching the constable's face.

"Dunno," said Barton, pa.s.sing on.

Solomon, much concerned, leaned on his rake and watched him enter the Edwards house. Jim had disappeared; there was some delay.

Mrs. Peaslee came to the door.

"Arrestin' that Ed'ards boy, be they, Solomon?" she said. "Well, serve him right, _I_ say, shootin' guns off so. Like father, like son. _I_ dunno as _'t was_ the son. I'd as soon believe it of the father. Everybody knows Lamoury and he's been mixed up together.

Some of his smugglin' tricks, prob'ly."

Mrs. Peaslee had taken a violent dislike to her taciturn neighbor, and she did not care who knew it. Her shrill voice seemed to her husband painfully loud, and, indeed, it was beginning to attract the attention of the group of children who had gathered about the Edwards gate.

"Sh!" hissed Solomon. "Ed'ards might hear ye. 'T would hurt us if he should take his account out of the bank."

"Humph!" exclaimed Mrs. Peaslee. "Well," she added, "you go to the hearin'. Justice is suthin', I guess."

But she said no more, and with her husband and the children awaited events--a silent group in the silent street before the silent house.

The children's eyes grew bigger and bigger with excitement. Was not Jimmy Edwards going to be arrested for mur-r-rder? the horrid whisper ran. One small boy, beginning to whimper, asked if Jimmy was "going to be hung."

The occasion was solemn even to the older eyes of Mr. Peaslee.

"S'posin' it was me," he said to himself.

Presently Mr. Edwards, Jim, and the constable emerged from the house. Jim looked white and frightened, but was bravely trying to bear himself like a man. Mr. Edwards, his long, shaven upper lip stiff as a board, looked stern and uncompromising. Barton was as big and good-humored as ever.

He turned upon the little boys and girls, and, waving his arm, cried, "Scat!" They fell back--about ten feet. Thus the procession formed: Barton and Jim, then Mr. Edwards, and--at a barely respectful distance--the crowd of youngsters.

Mr. Peaslee, much moved, but trying hard not to show it, thrust his rake under the veranda with a great show of care, and joined Mr.

Edwards--much to that gentleman's surprise. Solomon's heart was throbbing with a great resolution.

"I always aim to be neighborly," said he, nervously lowering his voice, for he was conscious of his wife, still standing on the veranda. "Thought I'd just step along, too. I cal'late mebbe you'd like comp'ny on his bail bond," and he jerked his thumb toward Jim.

It was out; he was committed, and Solomon heaved a great sigh, he knew not whether of relief or dismay. There was not indeed any risk in signing with Edwards, who was "good" for any bail that the justice was likely to require; but what would Mrs. Peaslee say if she knew! He glanced apprehensively toward the house.

His wife had gone in; but, evil omen! there, sitting on a fence-post, was the Calico Cat. She was placidly washing her face; and as her paw twinkled past the big black spot round her right eye, she appeared, at that distance, to be greeting him with a derisive wink.

Mr. Edwards, although his mouth shut tighter than ever at the mention of bail, was surprised and touched. "Thank you," he said.

"It's kind of you to think of it."

In the village, Sam ushered them into the musty law office of Squire Tucker, justice of the peace. The squire was a large, fat man, clothed in rusty black, with a carelessly knotted string tie pendent beneath a rumpled turn-down collar. He had a smooth-shaven, fat face, lighted by shrewd and kindly eyes, which gleamed at you now through, now over, his gla.s.ses. When the party entered he was writing, and merely looked up under his big eyebrows long enough to wave them all to chairs.

Jim sat down, with the constable behind him and his father at his left, and studied the man in whose hands he thought that his fate rested. He watched the squire's pen go from paper to ink, ink to paper, and listened to its scratch, scratch, and to the buzz of a big fly against the dirty window-pane. Ashamed to look at any one, he looked at the lawyer's big ink-well--a great, circular affair of mottled brown wood. It had several openings, each one with its own little cork attached with a short string to the side of the stand.

He had never seen one like it before.

Then some one entered the room. Jim, looking sidewise, recognized Jake Hibbard, and began covertly to study his face. He knew that this flabby-faced, dirty man, with the little screwed-up eyes, and the big screwed-up mouth, stained brown at the corners with tobacco, was Pete Lamoury's lawyer. Familiar for many years to his contemptuous young eyes, Jake now looked sinister and dangerous.

What were these men going to do to him?

Amid his fluttering emotions and rushing thoughts one thing only stood fixed and clear: he would not tell on his father. Some day, when all trouble was past, he would let his father know that he knew all the time. Then he guessed his father would be sorry and ashamed.

Now, since his father would not take him into his confidence, he would not pretend he did the shooting. That would be his only revenge.

Finally, Squire Tucker, pushing his writing aside, ran his fingers through the great ma.s.s of his tumbled gray hair, and looked quizzically at Jim over his gla.s.ses. "So this," he said, "is the hardened ruffian of whom our esteemed fellow citizen, Mr. Lamoury, complains?"

And indeed Jim, although stubborn, did not seem very dangerous.

The squire looked about the room.

"Is he represented by counsel?" he asked.

"No, I represent him," said Mr. Edwards.

"The charge against him is a.s.sault with intent to kill, I believe?"

and he looked with demure inquiry at Jake Hibbard, who nodded with a wrath-clouded face. Tucker was not taking the case seriously.

"Well, young man," said the justice to Jim, "what's your explanation of this?"

"We'll waive examination," said Mr. Edwards, briefly.

The squire leaned back in his chair. "I suppose," he said, with evident reluctance, "I shall have to hold him for the grand jury.

But I guess the safety of the community won't be greatly threatened if I let him out on bail. I should think a couple of hundred would do. I suppose there'll be no difficulty about the bond?"

The tone of the proceedings suited Mr. Peaslee well. In his nervousness and abstraction he had backed up to the rusty, empty iron stove at the end of the room, and stood there, with spread coat-tails, listening intently. On hearing the amount of bail, he gave a sigh of relief. His incautious offer had brought him no dangerous risk.

Mr. Edwards, however, did not answer. Instead, consulting the justice with a look, he turned and beckoned Jim to follow him into the hall.

"James," he said, "this is the last chance I shall give you. If you confess to me, I will see that you have proper bail. If you do not, I shall let the law take its course. You may choose."

Jim was exasperated. If his father wished to be mean, let him _be_ mean; at least he might drop this farce, this irritating pretense.

He lost his temper.

"I don't care what you do!" he said fiercely. "Send me to jail if you want to. I guess I can stand it!"

"Is that all you have to say?"

Jim replied with a rebellious glance.

"Very well," said his father. "Then we will go back." Once in the room, he stepped to the squire's desk, and talked with him in low tones.

Then the justice turned to Jim again, a new gravity in his jolly face.

"Your father," he said, "refuses to go on your bond. Have you any sureties of your own to offer?"

"No, sir," said Jim.

Mr. Peaslee was outraged. What kind of a father was this! He half started forward to offer to be one of the two sureties which the law required, but--no, he dare not. The second surety might prove to be any sort of worthless fellow. But Jim in jail! He had not for a moment dreamed of that. He was very indignant with Mr. Edwards.