Arrived at Turner’s, Griswold strode at once toward the court house. The contemptuous rejection of his message by the sheriff of Mingo had angered Griswold, but he was destined to feel even more poignant insolence when, entering the sheriff’s office, a deputy, languidly posed as a letter “V” in a swivel-chair, with his feet on the mantel, took a cob pipe from his mouth and lazily answered Griswold’s importunate query with:
“The sheriff ain’t hyeh, seh. He’s a-visitin’ his folks in Tennessy.”
“When will he be back?” demanded Griswold, hot of heart, but maintaining the icy tone that had made him so formidable in cross-examination.
“I reckon I don’t know, seh.”
“Do you know your own name?” persisted Griswold sweetly.
“Go to hell, seh,” replied the deputy. He reached for a match, relighted his pipe, and carefully crossed his feet on the mantelshelf. The moment Griswold’s steps died away in the outer corridor the deputy rose and busied himself so industriously with the telephone that within an hour all through the Mingo hills, and even beyond the state line, along lonely trails, across hills and through valleys, and beside cheery creeks and brooks, it was known that a strange man from Columbia was in Mingo County looking for the sheriff, and Appleweight, alias Poteet, and his men were everywhere on guard.
Griswold liked the prosecuting attorney on sight. His name was Habersham, and he was a youngster with a clear and steady gray eye. Instead of the Southern statesman’s flowing prince albert, he wore a sack-coat of gray jeans, and was otherwise distinguished by a shirt of white-and-blue check. He grinned as Griswold bent a puzzled look upon him.
“I took your courses at the university two years ago, Professor, and I remember distinctly that you always wore a red cravat to your Wednesday lectures.”
“You have done well,” replied Griswold, “for I never expected to find an old student who remembered half as much of me as that. Now, as I understood you over the telephone, Appleweight was indicted for stealing a ham in this county by the last grand jury, but the sheriff has failed or refused to make the arrest. How did the grand jury come to indict if this outlaw dominates all the hill country?”
“The grand jury wanted to make a showing of virtue, and it was, of course, understood between the foreman, the leader of the gang, and the sheriff that no warrant could be served on Appleweight. I did my duty; the grand jury’s act was exemplary; and there the wheels of justice are blocked. The same thing is practically true across the state line in Dilwell County, North Carolina. These men, led by Appleweight, use their intimate knowledge of the country to elude pursuers when at times the revenue men undertake a raid, and the county authorities have never seriously molested them. Now and then one of these sheriffs will make a feint of going out to look for Appleweight, but you may be sure that due notice is given before he starts. Three revenue officers have lately been killed while looking for these men, and the government is likely to take vigorous action before long.”