The squire lived at the crossroads to which his family had given its name, and dispensed the little law that found its way into that part of the county.

The whoops finally brought Yancy to his cabin door.
"Can I see you friendly, Bob Yancy ?" Balaam demanded with the lungs of a stentor, sheltering himself behind the thick bole of a sweetgum, for he observed that Yancy held his rifle in the crook of his arm and had no wish to offer his person as a target to the deadly aim of the Scratch Hiller who was famous for his skill.
"I reckon you can, Charley Balaam, if you are friendly," said Yancy.
"I'm a family man, Bob, and I ask you candid, do you feel peevish ?" "Not in particular," and Yancy put aside his rifle.
"I'm a-going to trust you, Bob," said Balaam.

And forsaking the shelter of the sweetgum he shuffled up the slope.
"How are you, Charley ?" asked Yancy, as they shook hands.
"Only just tolerable, Bob.

You've been warranted--Dave Blount swore hit on to you." He displayed a sheet of paper covered with much writing and decorated with a large seal.

Yancy viewed this formidable document with respect, but did not offer to take it.
"Read it," he said mildly.