“It’s an off chance,” he said to himself, “but it’s what might ‘a’ happened, and if it might ‘a’ happened, maybe it did happen....”

Wednesday afternoon the band was thrown into consternation, and the town into a paroxysm of excitement and speculation, when Sheriff Watts ascended the platform of the musicians and, placing a heavy hand on the shoulder of the snare drummer, said, loudly, “Mavin Newton, I arrest ye in the name of the law.”

Not a soul in that breathless crowd was there who failed to see Mattie Strong point her finger in the face of Scattergood Baines, and to hear her utter the one word, “Shame!” Nor did any fail to see her take her place at the side of the bearded drummer, with her fingers clutching his arm, and walk to the door of the jail under the post office with the prisoner.

Then the word was passed about that the hearing would take place before Justice of the Peace Bender that very evening.  So great was the public clamor that the justice agreed to hold court in the town hall instead of in his office; and it was rumored that Johnnie Bones, Scattergood Baines’s own lawyer, had been appointed special prosecutor by the Governor of the state.

Opinion ran against Scattergood.  It was free and outspoken.  Townsfolk and visitors alike felt that Scattergood had done ill in bringing the young man to justice—­especially at such a time.  He should have let sleeping dogs lie....  And when it heard that Sheriff Watts had carried a subpoena to Mavin Newton’s father, compelling his presence as a witness against his own son, there arose a wind of disapproval which quite swept Scattergood from the esteem of the community.

But the town came to the hearing.  In the beginning it was a cut-and-dried affair.  The facts of the crime were established with dry precision.  Then Johnnie Bones called the name of a witness, and the audience stiffened to attention.  Even Old Man Newton, sitting with bowed head and scowling brow, lifted his eyes to the face of the young lawyer.

“Avery Sutphin,” said Johnnie Bones, and the former sheriff, wearing such a haircut as Coldriver seldom saw within its corporate limits, and clothed in such clothing as it had never seen there, was brought through the door by two strangers of official look.  He seated himself in the witness chair.

“You are Avery Sutphin, former sheriff of this town?”

“Yes.”

“Where do you reside?”

“In the state penitentiary,” said Avery, seeking to hide his face.

“Do you know Mavin Newton?”

“Yes.”

“When did you last see him?”

“It was the night of June twelfth, eight year ago.”

“Where?”

“In his father’s barn.”

“What was he doing?”

“Milkin’,” said Avery.

“You went to see him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To git some money out of him.”

“Did he owe you money?”