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Ef I feels ther cravin' masterin' me ergin, I'll go ter town an' git ther police ter lock me up in ther jail-house an' keep me thar, tell I comes back ter my senses." "Hit hain't a thing ye kin handily make amends fer," she reminded him, "but I've done pledged myself ter let hit go unavenged and I knows too, thet I'm beholden ter ye fer last night.
The defendant himself had not been "hampered in the jail-house" but had walked free on his own recognizance, and, if report were true, he had been utilizing his freedom to organize his sympathizers for resistance. All in all, it promised to be a court day worth attending, with a measuring of neighbourhood influences, open and hidden.
"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.
"No; he went to the jail-house, and he would not let me follow. He don' come back no more." This was confusing, and Meade cried, angrily: "Why didn't you give the alarm? Why didn't you come to me instead of yelling your lungs out around the house?" "He told me to wait," she said, simply. "Go find Poleon, quick."
Walter sho' got tired of him pursuin' after 'im. Dat were de evidence Walter give out 'fore dey put de rope on his neck an' start him on his way to de gallows, but twant nobody dere to put it down jus' lak it were. "'Mr. Sinclair were sheriff by dis time, an' my young marster an' me went wid 'im to git Walter to take 'im to de gallows. Mr. Sinclair say, "Ed, you goin' to de jail-house now?
"I heered thet Tam'rack was in the jail-house, an' somebody hed ter go ter Hixon. So, of course, I knowed hit would be you." Lescott stayed on a week after that simply in deference to Samson's insistence. To leave at once might savor of flight under fire, but when the week was out the painter turned his horse's head toward town, and his train swept him back to the Bluegrass and the East.
It's a trick on the Island for yours." The Island meant nothing to Samson South, but the derisive laughter of the crowd, and the roughness with which the two bluecoats swung him around, and ordered him to march, set on edge every defiant nerve. Still, he gazed directly into the faces of his captors, and inquired with a cruelly forced calm: "Does ye 'low ter take me ter the jail-house?"
But, before the storm could break, some one rushed in, and whispered to Wile McCager a message that caused him to raise both hands above his head, and thunder for attention. "Men," he roared, "listen ter me! This here hain't no time fer squabblin' amongst ourselves. We're all Souths. Tamarack Spicer has done gone ter Hixon, an' got inter trouble. He's locked up in the jail-house."
When Sam Opdyke had been taken from the courtroom to the "jail-house" that his wrath might cool into submissiveness, and when later he had been held to the grand jury, he knew in his heart that ahead of him lay the prospect of leaving the mountains.
"I hain't got no use for Tam'rack Spicer," said the boy, succinctly, "but I don't 'low ter let him lay in no jail-house, unlessen he's got a right ter be thar. What's he charged with?" But no one knew that.
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