"Let me git at Henry Falkins! Git outen my road!" screamed the boy. His whole appearance was that of a maniac, and, as he spoke, the Deacon and his three henchmen came hurrying from the door into the street. Newt did not see them because his mad course had carried him a few yards beyond the shack which was his objective, but Black Pete and his allies were losing no time. As the boy swung himself from his saddle on the far side of his nag, his eyes still turned inward, he flung himself straight into the bear-like hug of the Deacon. Before he could struggle free, he was pinioned by three other pairs of arms, and was a prisoner. Kicking, biting and bellowing, he was disarmed and carried unceremoniously out into the street.
Someone asked contemptuously, "Who is that fool kid?" for Newt had not been much seen in Jackson since they had taken him down to the state prison, and to many persons he was still a stranger.
The boy himself tried to answer, but was silenced by a hand clapped roughly over his mouth; so he only gurgled and choked.
"It's only Little Newt Spooner," enlightened the Deacon commiseratingly. "He's just got drunk, an' ain't hardly responsible. Where's Micah French?"
"What air ye 'lowin' ter do with him?" asked a Falkins man, who expected the lad's kinsmen to make excuses for him, and carry him back to his own cabin. The Deacon looked up with a glance of grave reproach, as though the question grieved him.
"What can we do with him, except put him in the jail-house? He was breakin' the law, wasn't he? He was threatenin' the peace and quiet, an' endangerin' human life, wasn't he?"
It was a timely and popular play. The Deacon had offered to prove his conversion by his works, and here within the hour was an opportunity ready to his hand. It was a thing almost unheard of in feud usage, this turning a relative over to Falkins officers. And yet as greatly as it strengthened him in the eyes of the public, it carried a tremendous danger. He could now expect no loyalty from Newt. Newt, if he came to trial, might be stung into telling what he knew of the Deacon's part in the murder of old Jake. Still, it was a case for quick decision, and he did not hesitate. Moreover, Newt in jail would be more amenable to persuasion than Newt out of jail.
Falkins men gravely declared that Black Pete was standing up to his contract, and, since none of the Spooners cared much for "little Newt," he had small sympathy among his own kindred.
To the left of Jackson's court-house sits Jackson's "jail-house"—for the mountaineer would as readily call a court-house a court as a jail-house a jail. It is a small building of home-baked bricks, and its windows are low and iron-barred. Just now, it was empty—save for Newt Spooner. The solitary inmate was not to be released until the Deacon spoke the word, but there was no intention of bringing him to trial. It was merely a case of "sobering up" explained the peace-maker, as he rejoined the street crowd.
Not until the next day did the Deacon go to the boy there, and when he went, he went alone.