The score or more of men were quite near, and the judge and Mahaffy made out the tall figure of the sheriff in the lead.  And then the crowd, very excited, very dusty, very noisy and very hot, flowed into the judge’s front yard.  For a brief moment that gentleman fancied Pleasantville had awakened to a fitting sense of its obligation to him and that it was about to make amends for its churlish lack of hospitality.  He rose from his chair, and with a splendid florid gesture, swept off his hat.

“It’s the pussy fellow!” cried a voice.

“Oh, shut up—­don’t you think I know him?” retorted the sheriff tartly.

“Gentlemen—­” began the judge blandly.

“Get the well-rope!”

The judge was rather at loss properly to interpret these varied remarks.  He was not long left in doubt.  The sheriff stepped to his side and dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Slocum Price, or whatever your name is, your little game is up!”

“Get the well-rope!  Oh, hell—­won’t some one get the well-rope?” The voice rose into a wail of entreaty.

The judge’s eyes, rather startled, slid around in their sockets.  Clearly something was wrong—­but what—­what?

“Ain’t he bold?” it was a woman’s voice this time, and the fat landlady, her curls awry and her plump breast heaving tumultuously, gained a place in the forefront of the crowd.

“Dear madam, this is an unexpected pleasure!” said the judge, with his hand upon his heart.

“Don’t you make your wicked old sheep’s eyes at me, you brazen thing!” cried the lady.

“You’re wanted,” said the sheriff grimly, still keeping his hand on the judge’s shoulder.

“For what?” demanded the judge thickly.  The sheriff had no time in which to answer.

“I want my money!” shrieked the landlady.

“Your money—­Mrs. Walker, you amaze me!” The judge drew himself up haughtily, in genuine astonishment.

“I want my money!” repeated Mrs. Walker in even more piercing tones.

“I am not aware that I owe you anything, madam.  Thank God, I hold your receipted bill of recent date,” answered the judge with chilling dignity.

“Good money—­not this worthless trash!” she shook a bill under his nose.  The judge recognized it as the one of which he had despoiled Hannibal.

“You have been catched passing counterfeit,” said the sheriff.  A light broke on the judge, a light that dazzled and stunned.  An officious and impatient gentleman tossed a looped end of the well-rope about his neck and the crowd yelled excitedly.  This was something like—­it had a taste for the man-hunt!  The sheriff snatched away the rope and dealt the officious gentleman a savage blow on the chin that sent him staggering backward into the arms of his friends.

“Now, see here, now—­I’m going to arrest this old faller!  I am going to put him in jail, and I ain’t going to have no nonsense —­do you hear me?” he expostulated.