“I know them!” said Colonel Thomas excitedly. “They have a settlement up in the woods.”
“I spoke to one of them and told him that we had come to stay, and the next evening I found a scrawled note directing us to leave. It was even decorated with skull and cross-bones!”
“There’s only one of ’em can write and he learned in the penitentiary, that’s Sheldon, a tall man with a drooping mustache. Was it he?”
“He’s the one I talked to.”
“They’re a set of miserable rascals!” Colonel Thomas rose and began to walk up and down. “They’ve an interesting origin, but that’s all about ’em that is interesting. They’re descendants of the first squatters. The Colonial Government had a great deal of trouble with them, and since then they’ve been against everything, against the Government, against education, against religion, against law. During the war they were against the North, and the draft couldn’t reach into the mountains far enough to catch ’em. There’s this Sheldon who served a term for arson—I sent him up myself when I was judge—and a heavy, short, black-bearded man named Black Smith—don’t think it’s ‘blacksmith’; there’s nothing so industrious about ’em! They all have pleasant descriptive titles, like ‘Black’ and ‘Bud’ and ‘Bully.’ But there’s one institution they fear and that’s the constabulary.”
“Who are they?”
“They are the State police. If you are annoyed, let me know and there’ll be a settlement. The law will stand behind you there.”
Elizabeth rose once more.
“Thank you.”
Colonel Thomas assured her again vehemently that he and the law and the constabulary would stand by her. “You wouldn’t hesitate to ask me?”