That had to be handled by an expert, one who could stand off twenty paces, more or less, and crack the long lash with such astonishing precision that the tip end of it barely touched the back of the culprit, the result being a nobby assortment of splotches that looked for all the world like hives after the blood got back into them again.

You see, I was chief magistrate, executioner ex-officio, chief of police, jury commissioner--in fact, an all-around potentate.

Sort of Pooh-bah, you know.

For serious offences, such as wife beating, wife stealing, or having more than one wife at a time, we were not so lenient.

The offender, on conviction, was strung up by the thumbs and used as a target by amateurs who desired to become proficient in the use of the cattle-adder.