“Did I nick the tallow, Hannibal?” The judge spoke anxiously.

“Yes, sir, both shots.”

“We must remedy that,” said the judge.  Then, as rapidly as he could load and fire, bullet after bullet was sent fairly through the flame, extinguishing it each time.  Mahaffy was too astonished at this display of skill even to comment, while Hannibal’s delight knew no bounds.  “That will do!” said the judge at last.  He glanced down at the pistol in his hand.  “This is certainly a gentleman’s weapon!” he murmured.

CHAPTER XX

THE WARNING

Norton had ridden down to Belle Plain ostensibly to view certain of those improvements that went so far toward embittering Tom Ware’s existence.  Gossip had it that he kept the road hot between the two places, and this was an added strain on the planter.  But Norton did not go to Belle Plain to see Mr. Ware.  If that gentleman had been the sole attraction, he would have made just one visit suffice; had it preceded his own, he would have attended Tom’s funeral, and considered that he had done a very decent thing.  On the present occasion he and Betty were strolling about the rehabilitated grounds, and Norton was exhibiting that interest and enthusiasm which Betty always expected of him.

“You are certainly making the old place look up!” he said, as they passed out upon the terrace.  He had noted casually when he rode up the lane half an hour before that a horse was tied near Ware’s office; a man now issued from the building and swung himself into the saddle.  Norton turned abruptly to Betty.  “What’s that fellow doing here?” he asked.

“I suppose he comes to see Tom,” said Betty.

“Is he here often?”

“Every day or so.”  Betty’s tone was indifferent.  For reasons which had seemed good and sufficient she had never discussed Captain Murrell with Norton.

“Every day or so?” repeated Norton.  “But you don’t see him, Betty?”

“No, of course I don’t.”

“Tom has no business allowing that fellow around; if he don’t know this some one ought to tell him!” Norton was working himself up into a fine rage.

“He doesn’t bother me, Charley, if that’s what you’re thinking of.  Let’s talk of something else.”

“He’d better not, or I’ll make it a quarrel with him.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of that, Charley, indeed you mustn’t!” cried Betty in some alarm, for young Mr. Norton was both impulsive and hot-headed.

“Well, just how often is Murrell here?” he demanded.

“I told you—­every few days.  He and Tom seem wonderfully congenial.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Tom always sees him in his office,” explained Betty.  She might have made her explanation fuller on this point had she cared to do so.

“That’s the first decent thing I ever heard of Tom!” said Norton with warmth.  “But he ought to kick him off the place the first chance he gets.”