For a moment nobody in the room stirred or spoke. The sheriff paused with a morsel checked on its way to his open mouth. Roxy Griever, coffee-pot in hand, stopped between fireplace and table. Sylvane, who had half risen at the sound of steps, remained as he was, staring, while old Kimbro's eyes reached the newcomer with pathetic entreaty in their depths. Ma'y-Ann-Marth' broke the spell by rushing at her Uncle Lance and butting into his knees, shouting welcome. Then Sylvane hastily leaped up and ran to his brother's side, as though to share as nearly as might be that which must now befall. The men on Beason's either hand nudged him and whispered.
"Do it quick," Roxy heard one mutter.
"Better get the handcuffs on him," admonished the other. "He's a slippery cuss."
Roxy cast a look of helpless fury at the officers of the law, and mechanically advanced to fill their cups once more—gladly would she have poured to them henbane, plague, the venom of adders. Beason jammed into his mouth the bite he had started to take, and speaking around it in a voice of somewhat impaired dignity, began his solemn recitative,
"Lance Cleaverage, I arrest you in the name of the law—" 395
"Hold on a minute," suggested Lance, mildly, bending to pick up Ma'y-Ann-Marth' (both of the deputies ducked as his head went down); "I've got a letter for you, Daniel Beason." He tossed the envelope to the sheriff across the little girl's flaxen head. "Read it before you make your arrest. Read it out, or to yourself."
"Flent ain't dead!" cried Roxy, with a woman's instinctive piercing to the heart of the matter. They all remained gazing at Beason while he tore open and laboriously deciphered the communication. His face fell almost comically.
"No, he ain't dead—an' he ain't a-goin' to die," blustered the sheriff, trying to cover his own pre-knowledge of the fact. "Well, he's made a fool of me one time too many. When I go back to Hepzibah, I'll settle this here business with Mr. Flenton Hands, that thinks he can sick the law on people and call it off, same as you would a hound dog. Ouch! The good Lord, woman! you needn't scald a body."
For in her blissful relief, Roxy had swung the spout of the coffee-pot a wide circle, which sprayed the boiling fluid liberally over the sheriff's thumb. He regarded her frowningly,the member in his mouth, as she set the pot down ruthlessly on her cherished tablecloth of floursacks and ran to add herself to the group about her returned brother.
The deputies got to their feet and came over to shake hands, 396 muttering broken phrases concerning the law, and always having entertained the utmost good will toward their quarry. Even Beason, nursing his painful thumb, finally offered a surly paw. Only old Kimbro wheeled from the table and sat with bent head,his working face turned toward the hearthstone, tears running unchecked, unheeded, down the cheeks that had never been thus wet in the days of his most poignant sorrow.