"They thought they had the old man," he said, starting up his
horses. "They thought there weren't no law left in Israel. I
showed 'em."
I cannot convey the bitter triumphancy of his voice.
"You mean the road case?" I asked.
"Road case!" he exploded, "they wan't no road case; they didn't
have no road case. I beat 'em. I says to 'em, 'What right hev any
o' you on my property? Go round with you,' I says. Oh, I beat
'em. If they'd had their way, they'd 'a' cut through my
hedge--the hounds!"
When he set me down at my door, I had said hardly a word. There
seemed nothing that could be said. I remember I stood for some
time watching the old man as he rode away, his wagon jolting in
the country road, his stout figure perched firmly in the seat. I
went in with a sense of heaviness at the heart.
"Harriet," I said, "there are some things in this world beyond
human remedy."
Two evenings later I was surprised to see the Scotch Preacher
drive up to my gate and hastily tie his horse.
"David," said he, "there's bad business afoot. A lot of the young
fellows in Swan Hill are planning a raid on Old Toombs's hedge.
They are coming down to-night."
I got my hat and jumped in with him. We drove up the hilly road
and out around Old Toombs's farm and thus came, near to the
settlement.
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