The squire left the room and returned in five minutes with a paper duly drawn up, directing any constable or police officer to apprehend the giant known as Enoch, and produce before him to answer to a charge of assault and battery on Nathan Tarbox, a citizen of Crampton. There was more legal phraseology, but this was the purport of it.
"Thank you, squire," said Mr. Tarbox, in evident gratification, as he deposited the valuable document which was to secure his revenge in the right inside pocket of his coat.
"Who are you going to get to serve the warrant?" asked the squire.
"Sam Spriggins; he's the nearest constable."
"Very well," said the squire, with a peculiar smile.
"I'm going to have him arrested just as the evening performance is to commence," said Mr. Tarbox, triumphantly; "that'll trouble him, and probably they'll cut off his pay, but it'll serve him right."
After Mr. Tarbox left the squire had a quiet laugh, but as he did not mention to any one what had aroused his mirth we are left to conjecture what it was all about.
Nathan Tarbox proceeded at once to the house of Constable Spriggins, and was lucky enough to find him at home. In fact, Mr. Spriggins was out in his back yard, splitting some kindlings for use the next morning.
Sam Spriggins, who filled the high office of constable, was not a man of imposing appearance, he was about five feet eight inches in height, and had hair of a flaming red, and probably weighed about one hundred and forty pounds. It was somehow suspected that Mr. Spriggins was not a man of reckless bravery. He had never been employed to arrest desperate criminals, and lawbreakers were not accustomed to quail before his glance. In fact, Sam was more likely to be the one to quail. Why he had been appointed constable was not very clear, but probably it came about because no one else wanted the office.