sleek pig, with its tail curled tightly, egotistically, contemptuously, over its back, what, as a man, would you do?  What, as a man, could you do in a case like that, in a land where there was no law, where never a court had sat, where never such a thing as a case at law had been known?  Consider, what would be the abstract right and justice of this matter, repeating that you were a bridegroom and twenty-three, and that the air was molten wine and honey mingled, and that this pig—­but then, the matter is absurd!  There is but one answer.  It was right—­indeed, it was inevitable—­that Curly should shoot the pig; because in the first place it had intruded upon his pastime, and because in the second place he felt like it.

And yet over this act, this simple, inevitable act of justice, arose the first law case ever known in Heart’s Desire, a cause which shook that community to the centre of its being, and for a time threatened its very continuance.  Ah, well! perhaps the time had come.  Perhaps the sun was now to set over all the valleys of Heart’s Desire.  Perhaps this was the beginning of the end.  The law, they say, must have its course.  It had its course in Heart’s Desire.

But not without protest, not without struggle.  There were two factions from the start.  Strange to say, that most bitterly opposed to Curly was headed by no less a person than his own intended father-in-law, the man from Leavenworth.  It was his pig.  The rest of us had lived at Heart’s Desire for a considerable time, but there had hitherto seemed no need for law.  Order we already had in so far as order is really needed; though the importance of order, or indeed the importance of law, is a matter very much overrated.  No man at Heart’s Desire ever dreamed of locking his door.  His horse might doze saddled in the street if he liked.  No man spoke in rudeness or coarseness to his neighbor, as do men in the cities where they have law.  No man did injustice to his neighbor, for fair play and an even chance were gods in the eyes of all, eikons above each pinon-burning hearth in all that valley of content.  The speech of man was grave and gentle, the movements of man were easy and unhurried; neither did any man work by rule, or by clock, or by order.  There was no such thing as want or hunger; for did temporary poverty encompass one, was there not always the house of Uncle Jim Brothers, and could not one there hang up his gun behind the door and so obtain credit for an indefinite length of time, entitling him to eat at table with his peers?  Had there been such a thing as families in Heart’s Desire, be sure such a thing as a woman or child engaged in any work had been utterly unknown.  It was a land of men, big, grave, sufficient men, each with a gun upon his hip, and sometimes two, guaranty of peace and calm and content.  And any man who has ever lived in a Land Before the Law knows that this is the only fit way of life.  Alas! that this scheme, this great, happy simple, perfect scheme of society should be subverted.  And, be it remembered, this was by reason of nothing more than a pig, an artless, lissom pig, it is true; an infrequent, somewhat prized, a little petted and perhaps spoiled pig, it is true; yet, after all, no fit cause of elemental strife.