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"It's bolted on the other side!" he muttered, the full measure of Pegloe's perfidy revealing itself to his mind. He was aghast. It was a plot to discredit him. Pegloe's hospitality had been inspired by his enemy, for Pegloe was Fentress' tenant.
I reckon you've missed the hoss-racing, but you'll be in time for the shooting. Why ain't you there, Mr. Carrington?" "I'm going now, Mr. Pegloe," answered Carrington, as he followed the judge, who, with Mahaffy and the boy, had moved off. "Better stop at Boggs'!" Pegloe called after them. But the judge had already formed his decision.
"This is Raleigh, in Shelby County, Tennessee, one of the states of the Union of which, no doubt, you've heard rumor in your wanderings," said the landlord. "Are you the voice from the tomb?" inquired the judge, in a tone of playful sarcasm. Carrington, amused, sauntered toward him. "That's one for you, Mr. Pegloe!" he said.
Saul and arrived out of breath, but the letter was not mentioned by the judge. He spoke of the crops, the chance of rain, and the intricacies of county politics. The sheriff withdrew mystified, wondering why it was he had not felt at liberty to broach the subject which was uppermost in his mind. His place was taken by Mr. Pegloe, and on the heels of the tavern-keeper came Mr. Bowen.
Then all in a flash he remembered Fentress and the meeting at Boggs', something of how the evening had been spent, and a spasm of regret shook him. "I had other things to think of. This must never happen again!" he told himself remorsefully. He was wide-awake now. Doubtless Pegloe had put him to bed.
To him the judge made known his needs. "Goin' to locate, are you?" said Mr. Pegloe. "My friends urge it, sir, and I have taken the matter under consideration," answered the judge. "Sho, do you know any folks hereabouts?" asked Mr. Pegloe. "Not many," said the judge, with reserve.
Before the day was over it was generally believed that the judge was wearing his gag with humility; interest in him declined, still the public would have been grateful for a sight of that letter. "Shucks, he's nothing but an old windbag!" said Mr. Pegloe to a group of loungers gathered before his tavern in the early evening.
Even without this useful hint the tavern-keeper had known that he should experience intense embarrassment in meeting the judge; this was now a dreary certainty. "You reckon he means near all he says?" he had asked, his fat sides shaking. "I'd take his word a heap quicker than I would most folks," answered Mr. Saul with conviction. Pegloe promptly had a sinking spell.
Permitting his thoughts to dwell upon the mingled strength and weakness which was so curiously blended in Slocum Price's character, he had horrid visions of that great soul, freed from the trammels of restraint, confiding his melancholy history to Mr. Pegloe in the hope of bolstering his fallen credit at the City Tavern.
Pegloe after his return from Belle Plain, lost in weight, it might have been observed that he and Mr. Mahaffy seemed to gain in that nice sense of equity which should form the basis of all human relations. The judge watched Mr. Mahaffy, and Mr.
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