Strange enough such speech sounds to-day,—­speech demanding growth for a part of a country, denying it for the whole, speech ignoring the nationalist tendency so soon to overwhelm all bounds, all creeds in the making of a mighty America that should be a home for all the nations.  But as the gray-headed old doctor went on he only voiced what was the earnest conviction of many of the ablest men of his time, both of the South and the North.

“The South has been robbed.  We paid our share of the cost of this last war, in blood and in money!  We paid for our share in the new territory won for the Union!  And now they deny us any share of it!  A little band of ranters, of fanatics, undertake to tell a great country what it shall do, what it shall think,—­no matter even if that is against our own interests and against our traditions!  Gentlemen, it’s invasion, that’s what it is, and that’s my answer, so far as my honest conscience and all my wisdom go.  It’s war!  What’s the next thing to do?  Judge, we can take back your girl—­the legal right to do that is clean.  But we all know that that may be only a beginning.”

“To me, sir,” ventured Judge Clayton, “the legal side of this is very clear, leaving aside our right to recover my property.  They are trying to shove their fanatical beliefs down our throats with rifle barrels.  We never used to stand that sort of thing down here.  I don’t think we will begin it now!”

The Honorable William Jones helped himself to whisky, altogether forgetting his principle of taking but one drink a day.  “If them damned abolitionists would only stay at home, we could afford to sit quiet an’ let ’em howl; but when they come into our dooryard an’ begin to howl, it’s time somethin’ ought to be did.  I ’low we’ll have to fight.”

“We will fight,” said Dunwody slowly and gravely.  A faint picture of the possible future was passing before his mind.

“What boat are these men using?” asked Doctor Jamieson, turning to young Desha.

“Little old scow named the Helen Bell.  She can’t steam up-stream a hundred miles a week.  She ties up every night.  We can easy catch her, up above St. Genevieve, if we ride fast.”

“That looks feasible to me,” remarked Judge Clayton, and the others nodded their approval.

Judge Clayton dropped into a seat, as he replaced his glass on the nearest table.  “By the way, Colonel Dunwody,” said he, “there was something right strange happened on the Vernon, coming down the Ohio, and I thought maybe you could help us figure it out.  There was another disappearance—­that extraordinarily beautiful young lady who was there—­you remember her?  No one knew what became of her.  When I heard about that Lily girl’s escape, I sent my men with the two bucks on down home, with instructions for a little training, so they would not try the underground again right soon.  But now—­”

“Now about that Lily girl,” interrupted the Honorable William Jones, who had once more forgotten his temperance resolutions,—­“But hello, Colonel, what’s this, wha-a-at’s this?”