had been spent in combating crime and deception, answered, as he waved
farewell to Auntie Sue, who watched them from the door of the little log
house by the river, "A very wonderful woman, indeed,--the loveliest old
lady I have ever met,--and the most remarkable."



CHAPTER VIII.

THAT WHICH IS GREATER THAN THE LAW.


When she had watched Sheriff Knox and his two companions ride out of
sight, Auntie Sue turned slowly back into the house to face Judy, who
stood accusingly in the kitchen doorway.

For what seemed a long time, the old gentlewoman and the deformed
mountain girl stood silently looking at each other. Then Auntie Sue
nervously crossed the room to lay the newspaper, which the Sheriff had
given her, on the table beside her basket of sewing.

Without speaking, Judy followed her, watching every movement intently.

Turning to face her companion again, Auntie Sue stood, still speechless,
clasping and unclasping her thin old hands.

Judy spoke in her shrill, drawling monotone: "You-all have sure fixed
hit this here time, hain't you? Can't you-all see what a hell of a hole
you've done got us inter?"