The Squire rose from the edge of the bed. “Then this court stands adjourned,” he said formally.
Redfield went out with him, leaving Dylks trembling behind. He said, “I ain't sure you ain't making a fool of me, Squire Braile.”
“Well, I am,” the Squire retorted. “And don't you make one of yourself, and then there won't be any.”
Redfield still hesitated. “I'd just like to had another pull at that horse-tail of his,” he said wistfully.
“Well, I knew old man Gillespie hadn't quite the strength. But I thought maybe Hughey Blake helped pull—”
“Hughey Blake,” Redfield returned scornfully, “had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, anyway, I hear it's converted Jane Gillespie, and she was worth it, though it was rather too much like scalping a live Indian.”
“She's worth more than all the other girls in this settlement put together,” Redfield said, without comment on the phase of the act which had interested the Squire, and went down the cabin steps into the lane.
Braile turned back and opened the door of the room where Dylks was lurking.
“Better come out, now,” he said, not ungently, “and get into a safe place before folks begin to be about much. Or wait—I'll put the ladder up first.” He brought the ladder from the kitchen where he exchanged a fleeting joke with his wife, still at her work of clearing the breakfast things away, and set it against the wall under the trapdoor of the loft. “Now, then!” he called and Dylks came anxiously out.