The visitor rose and stood looking from the eyes of one to those of the other.
"We will both be in Jackson on Saturday," said McAllister Falkins.
"Me, too," said the giant. "But I'll be there unbeknownst until the minute comes for me to show myself."
The Deacon had taken up his hat and reached the top step of the porch. There he turned and, looking at the younger man, suggested:
"I was goin' to advise that you didn't go, Henry. Your father can do what's got to be done."
"Why?" demanded the son sharply. "You arrange that my father shall take his life into his hands in an effort to quiet a frenzied mob, and then suggest that I let him go alone? Why?"
The visitor seemed to sympathize with the sentiment.
"That's right," he conceded. "After all, you've got to go. I don't think Mr. Falkins is runnin' much risk. I don't think there's a man in these parts that would harm him or let him be harmed. But it's a little different with you. Little Newt Spooner has been pardoned out of the penitentiary. I guess you knew that?"
"So I heard. What has that to do with me?"
"Well, he's a mean little devil, that boy is, an' he's holdin' it up against you that your testimony busted his alibi."