"And toss a good healthy scare into him!" added Mr. Shrimplin aggressively.
"But he might not care to respect the summons; there is no reason why he should," explained the judge.
"If he knows you want to see him, he'll come here fast enough!" said Nellie.
The judge turned to Shrimplin.
"Will you tell him this, Shrimplin, the first time you see him?"
"Won't I!" said the little lamplighter. "Certainly, Judge—certainly!" and his agile fancy had already clothed the message in verbiage that should terrify the delinquent Joe.
"Very well, then; but beyond giving him a word of advice and warning; I can do nothing."
A night or two later, as the judge, who had spent the evening at Colonel Harbison's, came to his own gate, he saw a slouching figure detach itself from the shadows near his front door and advance to meet him midway of the graveled path that led to the street. It was Joe Montgomery.
"Well, my man!" said the judge, with some little show of sternness. "I suppose you received my message?"
Montgomery uncovered his shock of red hair, while his bulk of bone and muscle actually trembled in the presence of the small but awesome figure confronting him. He might have crushed the judge with a blow of his huge fist, but no possible provocation could have induced him to lay hands on Nellie's powerful ally.