XXV ON THE HIGH IRON BRIDGE
XXVI CUSTER'S IDOL FALLS
XXVII FAITH IS RESTORED
XXVIII THE LAST NIGHT IN JAIL
XXIX AT IDLE HOUR





CHAPTER ONE

FIGHTING SHRIMPLIN


Custer felt it his greatest privilege to sit of a Sunday morning in his
mother's clean and burnished kitchen and, while she washed the breakfast
dishes, listen to such reflections as his father might care to indulge
in.

On these occasions the senior Shrimplin, commonly called Shrimp by his
intimates, was the very picture of unconventional ease-taking as he
lolled in his chair before the kitchen stove, a cracker box half filled
with sawdust conveniently at hand.

As far back as his memory went Custer could recall vividly these Sunday
mornings, with the church bells ringing peacefully beyond the windows of
his modest home, and his father in easy undress, just emerged from his
weekly bath and pleasantly redolent of strong yellow soap, his feet
incased in blue yarn socks--white at toe and heel--and the neckband of