“You told the constable about it?”
“Yes; and he pretty near laughed in my face. Never mind. I’ll take this case to the county seat.”
“The law reads the same at the county seat as it does here, Mrs. Luce. Say I give you a warrant. Bert serves it. Homer lands in jail. He says he never seen the nuggets. You say he has ’em, but you can’t locate ’em. What could a jury do about it? So—take a night t’ think it over.”
She shook her head decidedly. “No.”
“An’ don’t forgit it’ll hurt his maw, too,” urged the Judge. “She ain’t strong this summer—malaria, I reckon.”
“I don’t intend to give him a chance to skip on that down train.”
Once more the Judge rose and began to pace the floor, his hands clasped behind him, his chin on his breast. One minute passed, and Mrs. Luce sat quietly. But when another went by she settled her hat preparatory to leaving and tucked some stray wisps of hair into place.
At that the Judge returned to his desk. There was no fear in the grey eyes now, and his manner was resolute, even cheerful. “All right,” he said almost briskly. “I’m a-goin’ to do what you ask. A-course, I’d like to have the case rest easy for a few hours, so’s I could find out one or two things on the q. t. But”—putting several articles to rights on his desk—“that ain’t possible. I’ll have to ask you to write me out a statement.”
“Got to have one, Judge?”
“Shore. Allus got to have a statement of ev’ry case. Would you mind goin’ into the jail office to write it? There’s some private business to attend to in here. It’s cool in the jail office, an’ you’ll have the hull place to yourself. But be awful certain about one thing, Mrs. Luce.”