shan't have him!" said Yancy, and his tone was final.

"I don't know what kind of a mess you're getting yourself into,
Bob, I declare I don't!" cried Crenshaw, who felt that he was
largely responsible for the whole situation.

"Looks like your neighbors would stand by you," suggested the
squire.

"I don't want them to stand by me. It'll only get them into
trouble, and I ain't going to do that," rejoined Yancy, and
lapsed into momentary silence. Then he resumed meditatively,
"There was old Baldy Ebersole who shot the sheriff when they
tried to arrest him for getting drunk down in Fayetteville and
licking the tavern-keeper--"

"Sho', there wa'n't no harm in Baldy!" said the squire, with
heat. "When that sheriff come along here looking for him, I told
him p'inted that Baldy said he wouldn't be arrested. A more
truthful man I never knowed, and if the damn fool had taken my
word he'd be living yet!"

"But you-all know what trouble killing that sheriff made fo'
Baldy!" said Yancy. "He told me often he regretted it mo' than
anything he'd ever done. He said it was most aggravatin' having
to always lug a gun wherever he went. And what with being
suspicious of strangers when he wa'n't suspicious by nature, he
reckoned in time it would just naturally wear him out."

"He stood it until he was risin' eighty," said Crenshaw.