"
"Well, you mark my word, that feller'd swear his chances of heaven away
to turn them mount'in men agin you."
"Most of them are good-hearted fellows" replied Westerfelt. "They
won't harm me."
Washburn sat down on his bed, pulled off his shoes, and dropped them on
the puncheon floor.
"But he's got the'r ear, an' you hain't, Mr. Westerfelt. He'd grab at
a chance like this an' you'd never be able to disprove anything.
Toot's got some unprincipled friends that 'ud go any length to help him
in rascality."
The next morning before the revenue men had left with their prisoners
and the confiscated whiskey for the town where the trial before an
inspector was to take place, a number of mountaineers had gathered in
the village. They stood about the streets in mysterious groups and
spoke in undertones, and now and then a man would go to the jail window
and confer with the prisoners through the bars. Several men had been
summoned to attend the trial as witnesses, and others went out of
curiosity or friendship for the accused.
That evening, as John Westerfelt was passing through the hall of the
hotel to the dining-room, he met Harriet Floyd.
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