'He's in this house right now!' he exclaimed. He ordered a search, and the guests, a little while ago so friendly, began exploring every nook and cranny.
'No, no!' cried the old woman shrilly, as they tried the door of the shed-room, which was bolted and barred. 'Ye can't tech that thar door. It can't be opened—not ef the Gov'nor o' Tennessee war hyar himself, a-moanin' an' a-honin' ter git in.'
The sheriff's eyes dilated. 'Open the door—I summon ye!' he proclaimed, with his imperative official manner.
'No!—I done tole ye,' she said indignantly. 'The word o' the men folks hev been gin ter keep that thar door shet, an shet it's going ter be kep'.'
The officer laid his hand upon it.
'Ye mustn't bust it open!' shrilled the old woman. 'Laws-a-massy! ef thar be many sech ez you-uns in Shaftesville, I ain't s'prised none that the Bible gits ter mournin' over the low kentry, an' calls it a vale o' tears an' the valley o' the shadder o' death!'
The sheriff had placed his powerful shoulder against the frail batten door.
'Hyar goes!' he said.
There was a crash; the door lay in splinters on the floor; the men rushed precipitately over it.
They came back laughing sheepishly. The officer's face was angry and scarlet.