had sworn that he would keep the dog tied and the old hunter always kept his
word. He had sworn, too, that Jack should have a fair trial. Therefore, the
guns--and the school-master walked with his hands behind him and his eyes on
the ground: he feared trouble.

Half a mile up the river and to one side of the road, a space of some thirty
feet square had been cut into a patch of rhododendron and filled with rude
benches of slabs--in front of which was a rough platform on which sat a
home-made, cane-bottomed chair. Except for the opening from the road, the
space was walled with a circle of living green through which the sun dappled
the benches with quivering disks of yellow light--and, high above, great
poplars and oaks arched their mighty heads. It was an open-air
"meeting-house" where the circuit-rider preached during his summer circuit
and there the trial was to take place.

Already a crowd was idling, whittling, gossiping in the road, when the Turner
cavalcade came in sight--and for ten miles up and down the river people were
coming in for the trial

"Mornin', gentlemen," said old Joel, gravely.

"Mornin'," answered several, among whom was the Squire, who eyed Joel's gun
and the guns coming up the road.

"Squirrel-huntin'?" he asked and, as the old hunter did not answer, he added,
sharply:

"Air you afeerd, Joel Turner, that you ain't a-goin' to git justice from ME?"