“Therefore I do not hesitate to say that I consider you a damned scoundrel!” concluded the judge.

Mr. Cavendish, accepting the judge’s ultimatum as something which must debar Hicks from all further consideration, and being, as he was, exceedingly active and energetic by nature, if one passed over the various forms of gainful industry, uttered a loud whoop and threw himself on the overseer.  There was a brief struggle and Hicks went down with the Earl of Lambeth astride of him; then from his boot leg that knightly soul flashed a horn-handled tickler of formidable dimensions.

The judge, Yancy, and Mahaffy, sprang from their chairs.  Mr. Mahaffy was plainly shocked at the spectacle of Mr. Cavendish’s lawless violence.  Yancy was disturbed too, but not by the moral aspects of the case; he was doubtful as to just how his friend’s act would appeal to the judge.  He need not have been distressed on that score, since the judge’s one idea was to profit by it.  With his hands on his knees he was now bending above the two men.

“What do you want to know, judge?” cried Cavendish, panting from his exertions.  “I’ll learn this parrot to talk up!”

“Hicks,” said the judge, “it is in your power to tell us a few things we are here to find out.”  Hicks looked up into the judge’s face and closed his lips grimly.  “Mr. Cavendish, kindly let him have the point of that large knife where he’ll feel it most!” ordered the judge.

“Talk quick!” said Cavendish with a ferocious scowl.  “Talk—­or what’s to hinder me slicing open your woozen?” and he pressed the blade of his knife against the overseer’s throat.

“I don’t know anything about Miss Betty,” said Hicks in a sullen whisper.

“Maybe you don’t, but what do you know about the boy?” Hicks was silent, but he was grateful for the judge’s question.  From Tom Ware he had learned of Fentress’ interest in the boy.  Why should he shelter the colonel at risk to himself?  “If you please, Mr. Cavendish!” said the judge quietly nodding toward the knife.

“You didn’t ask me about him,” said Hicks quickly.

“I do now,” said the judge.

“He was here yesterday.”

“Mr. Cavendish—­ " and again the judge glanced toward the knife.

“Wait!” cried Hicks.  “You go to Colonel Fentress.”

“Let him up, Mr. Cavendish; that’s all we want to mow,” said the judge.

CHAPTER XXIX

COLONEL FENTRESS

The judge had not forgotten his ghost, the ghost he had seen in Mr. Saul’s office that day he went to the court-house on business for Charley Norton.  Working or idling—­principally the latter —­drunk or sober—­principally the former—­the ghost, otherwise Colonel Fentress, had preserved a place in his thoughts, and now as he moved stolidly up the drive toward Fentress’ big white house on the hill with Mahaffy, Cavendish, and Yancy trailing in his wake, memories of what had once been living and vital crowded in upon him.  Some sense of the wreck that littered the long years, and the shame of the open shame that had swept away pride and self-respect, came back to him out of the past.