“Look here, Rodliff!” His voice was like cracking twigs. “Pile the dunnage out of those huts. If any one gets in your way drive a stake and tie ’em to it.” He thrust his bulgy nose into the air to sniff the direction of the wind. “Then set fire to every d—n crib. The wind’s all right to carry it towards the bog.”
“I don’t believe you’ve got law enough in your pocket to do a thing like that, Mr. Britt,” broke in Wade, with heat.
“You don’t, hey?”
“Not to throw old men and women and children out of their houses and leave them shelterless a dozen miles from a building. There must be another way of getting at this eviction matter, Mr. Britt—one that’s different from burning a hornet’s nest.”
“This don’t happen to be any of your special business!” roared the tyrant. “If it was, you’d stand by property interests instead of backing State paupers.”
“Mr. Sheriff, are you going to do that thing?”
“I’m here by order of the court, to do what Mr. Britt wants done to protect his property,” replied the officer. “I’m to execute, not to plan nor ask questions.”
“King Spruce runs this country up here, not human feelin’s,” muttered old Christopher in Wade’s ear. “You won’t get any satisfaction by buttin’ in. I’m ready to move. I don’t like to see such things done, and I don’t believe you do. Come on!” He swung his meal-bag upon his shoulders.
But the young man lingered doggedly, his eyes on the face of the girl.
“Buckin’ a high sheriff and his posse ain’t ever been reckoned as a profitable business speculation in these parts,” mumbled the guide. “It wouldn’t amount to a hoorah in tophet, and you’d probably wind up in the county jail.”