down the street where the huddled crowd was rushing right and left in wild confusion, and, through the parting crowd, the tutor flew into sight on horseback, bareheaded, barefooted, clad in a gaudily striped bathing suit, with his saddle-pockets flapping behind him like wings.  Some mischievous mountaineers, seeing him in his bathing suit on the point of a rock up the river, had joyously taken a pot-shot or two at him, and the tutor had mounted his horse and fled.  But he came as welcome and as effective as an emissary straight from the God of Battles, though he came against his will, for his old nag was frantic and was running away.  Men, women and children parted before him, and gaping mouths widened as he passed.  The impulse of the crowd ran faster than his horse, and even the enraged mountaineers in amazed wonder sprang out of his way, and, far in the rear, a few privileged ones saw the frantic horse plunge towards his stable, stop suddenly, and pitch his mottled rider through the door and mercifully out of sight.  Human purpose must give way when a pure miracle comes to earth to baffle it.  It gave way now long enough to let the oaken doors of the calaboose close behind tough, farm-hand, and the farmer’s wild son.  The line of Winchesters at the corner quietly gave way.  The power of the Guard was established, the backbone of the opposition broken; henceforth, the work for law and order was to be easy compared with what it had been.  Up at the big spring under the beeches sat the disgusted orator of the day and the disgusted Senator, who, seriously, was quite sure that the Guard, being composed of Democrats, had taken this way to shatter his campaign.

* * * * *

Next morning, in court, the members of the Guard acted as witnesses against the culprits.  Macfarlan stated that he had struck Sturgeon over the head to save his life, and Sturgeon, after he had paid his fine, said he would prefer being shot to being clubbed to death, and he bore dangerous malice for a long time, until he learned what everybody else knew, that Macfarlan always did what he thought he ought, and never spoke anything but the literal truth, whether it hurt friend, foe or himself.

After court, Richards, the tough, met Gordon, the sergeant, in the road.  “Gordon,” he said, “you swore to a ——­ lie about me a while ago.”

“How do you want to fight?” asked Gordon.

“Fair!”

“Come on”; and Gordon started for the town limits across the river, Richards following on horseback.  At a store, Gordon unbuckled his belt and tossed his pistol and his police badge inside.  Jack Woods, seeing this, followed, and the Infant, seeing Woods, followed too.  The law was law, but this affair was personal, and would be settled without the limits of law and local obligation.  Richards tried to talk to Gordon, but the sergeant walked with his head down, as though he could not hear—­he was too enraged to talk.