The sheriff and his assistant galloped on to the village they had been approaching when they overtook Crewne; but the young minister did not accompany them, although the village toward which they rode was the one in which he was to preach that morning.

Perhaps he needed more time and quietness in which to compose his sermon.  If this supposition is correct, it may account for the fact that the members of the Mount Pisgah congregation pronounced his sermon that day, from the text, “All is vanity,” one of his most powerful efforts.

In fact, old Mrs. Reets, who had for time immemorial entertained the probable angels who appeared at Mount Pisgah in ministerial guise, remarked that “preacher seemed all tuckered out by that talk; tuk his critter, an’ left town ‘fore the puddin’ was done.”

That same evening, the sheriff and his deputy, with several special assistants, rode from Mount Pisgah toward Matalette’s section.

The night was dark, rainy and cloudy; the horses stumbled over roots and logs in the imperfectly made road; the low-hanging branches spitefully cut the faces of the riders, and brought several hats to grief, and snatched the sheriff’s pipe out of his mouth.

And yet the sheriff seemed in excellent spirits.  To be sure, he softly whistled the air of, “Jordan is a hard road to travel,” which was the popular air twenty-five years ago, but there was a merry tone to his whistle.  He stopped whistling suddenly, and remarked to the constable: 

“Got notice to-day of another new counterfeit.  Five hundred offered for arrest and conviction on that.  Hope we can prove that on Matalette’s gang.  We can go out of politics, and run handsome farms of our own, if things go all right to-night.  Don’t know but I’d give my whole share, though, to whoever would arrest Helen.  It’s a dog’s life, anyhow, this bein’ a sheriff.  I won’t complain, however, if we get that gang to-night.”

The party rode on until they were within a mile of Matalette’s section, when they reined their horses into the woods, dismounted, left a man on watch, and approached the dwelling on foot.

Reaching the fence, the party halted, whispered together for a moment, and silently surrounded the house in different directions.

The sheriff removed his boots, walked noiselessly around the house, saw that he had a man at each door and window, and posted one at the cellar-door.  Then the sheriff put on his boots, approached the front door, and knocked loudly.

There was no response.  The light was streaming brightly from one of the windows, and the sheriff tried to look in, but the thick curtain prevented him.  He knocked again, and louder, but still there was no response.  Then he became uneasy.  He was a brave man when he knew what was to be met, but now all sorts of uncomfortable suspicions crossed his mind; the rascals might be up-stairs waiting for a quiet opportunity to shoot down at him, or they might be under the small stoop on which he stood, and preparing to fire up at him.  They might be quietly burning their spurious money up-stairs, so as to destroy the evidence against them; they might be in the cellar burying the plates.