The millpond was dark
with shadows now, and she went down the stairs and out to the gate
just as Dave again pulled up in front of it. He stared at the
vision wonderingly and long, and then he began to laugh with the
scorn of soberness and the silliness of drink.
"YOU ain't June, air ye?" The girl never moved. As if by a
preconcerted signal three men moved toward the boy, and one of
them said sternly:
"Drop that pistol. You are under arrest.' The boy glared like a
wild thing trapped, from one to another of the three--a pistol
gleamed in the hand of each--and slowly thrust his own weapon into
his pocket.
"Get off that horse," added the stern voice. Just then Hale rushed
across the street and the mountain youth saw him.
"Ketch his pistol," cried June, in terror for Hale--for she knew
what was coming, and one of the men caught with both hands the
wrist of Dave's arm as it shot behind him.
"Take him to the calaboose!"
At that June opened the gate--that disgrace she could never stand-
-but Hale spoke.
"I know him, boys. He doesn't mean any harm. He doesn't know the
regulations yet. Suppose we let him go home.
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