his father. As a result there had already been thirty years of
local war. In the last race for legislature, political issues were
submerged and the feud was the sole issue. And a Tolliver had
carried that boy's trouser-patch like a flag to victory and was
sitting in the lower House at that time helping to make laws for
the rest of the State. Now Bad Rufe Tolliver was in the hills
again and the end was not yet. Already people were pouring in,
men, women and children--the men slouch-hatted and stalking
through the mud in the rain, or filing in on horseback--riding
double sometimes--two men or two women, or a man with his wife or
daughter behind him, or a woman with a baby in her lap and two
more children behind--all dressed in homespun or store-clothes,
and the paint from artificial flowers on her hat streaking the
face of every girl who had unwisely scanned the heavens that
morning. Soon the square was filled with hitched horses, and an
auctioneer was bidding off cattle, sheep, hogs and horses to the
crowd of mountaineers about him, while the women sold eggs and
butter and bought things for use at home. Now and then, an open
feudsman with a Winchester passed and many a man was belted with
cartridges for the big pistol dangling at his hip. When court
opened, the rain ceased, the sun came out and Hale made his way
through the crowd to the battered temple of justice. On one corner
of the square he could see the chief store of the town marked
"Buck Falin--General Merchandise," and the big man in the door
with the bushy redhead, he guessed, was the leader of the Falin
clan. Outside the door stood a smaller replica of the same figure,
whom he recognized as the leader of the band that had nearly
ridden him down at the Gap when they were looking for young Dave
Tolliver, the autumn before. That, doubtless, was young Buck. For
a moment he stood at the door of the court-room. A Falin was on