"No, I don't cal'late you will. Cal'late you won't have a chance. Well,
Ab, I guess we've proved our client's case. Next time you go out cat
shootin' you better be sure you're gunnin' for the right one. Come on,
Mary-'Gusta."

Con Bacheldor sprang to his feet.

"Pop," he shouted, "be you goin' to let 'em go this way? And that cat
stealin' our chickens right along. Ain't you goin' to tell 'em you'll
kill the critter next time he comes on our land?"

Abner was silent. He seemed oddly anxious to see the last of his
visitors. It was the Captain who spoke.

"No, Con," he said, crisply, "he ain't goin' to tell me that. And you
listen while I tell YOU somethin'. If that cat of ours gets hurt or
don't show up some time I'll know who's responsible. And then--well,
then maybe I'LL go gunnin'. Good night, all hands."

All the way back across the fields and through the grove the Captain was
silent. Mary-'Gusta clinging to his hand was silent too, dreading what
she knew was sure to follow. When they entered the kitchen Shadrach
turned to her:

"Well, Mary-'Gusta," he said, "I'm glad your cat's turned out to be no
chicken thief, but--but that don't alter what you did, does it?"

"No, sir," stammered the girl.