There was nothing auspicious in the appearance of Danville, and no man might have said then that the place was to be the scene of portentous conventions which were to decide the destiny of a State.  Here was a sprinkling of log cabins, some in the building, and an inn, by courtesy so called.  Tom and I would have preferred to sleep in the woods near by, with our feet to the blaze; this was partly from motives of economy, and partly because Tom, in common with other pioneers, held an inn in contempt.  But to come back to our arrival.

It was a sunny and windy afternoon, and the leaves were flying in the air.  Around the court-house was a familiar, buzzing scene,—­the backwoodsmen, lounging against the wall or brawling over their claims, the sleek agents and attorneys, and half a dozen of a newer type.  These were adventurous young gentlemen of family, some of them lawyers and some of them late officers in the Continental army who had been rewarded with grants of land.  These were the patrons of the log tavern which stood near by with the blackened stumps around it, where there was much card-playing and roistering, ay, and even duelling, of nights.

“Thar’s Mac,” cried a backwoodsman who was sitting on the court-house steps as we rode up.  “Howdy, Mac; be they tryin’ to git your land, too?”

“Howdy, Mac,” said a dozen more, paying a tribute to Tom’s popularity.  And some of them greeted me.

“Is this whar they take a man’s land away?” says Tom, jerking his thumb at the open door.

Tom had no intention of uttering a witticism, but his words were followed by loud guffaws from all sides, even the lawyers joining in.

“I reckon this is the place, Tom,” came the answer.

“I reckon I’ll take a peep in thar,” said Tom, leaping off his horse and shouldering his way to the door.  I followed him, curious.  The building was half full.  Two elderly gentlemen of grave demeanor sat on stools behind a puncheon table, and near them a young man was writing.  Behind the young man was a young gentleman who was closing a speech as we entered, and he had spoken with such vehemence that the perspiration stood out on his brow.  There was a murmur from those listening, and I saw Tom pressing his way to the front.

“Hev any of ye seen a feller named Colfax?” cries Tom, in a loud voice.  “He says he owns the land I settled, and he ain’t ever seed it.”

There was a roar of laughter, and even the judges smiled.

“Whar is he?” cries Tom; “said he’d be here to-day.”

Another gust of laughter drowned his words, and then one of the judges got up and rapped on the table.  The gentleman who had just made the speech glared mightily, and I supposed he had lost the effect of it.

“What do you mean by interrupting the court?” cried the judge.  “Get out, sir, or I’ll have you fined for contempt.”

Tom looked dazed.  But at that moment a hand was laid on his shoulder, and Tom turned.