"We have," said the lawyers, and that night on Hale's porch, the
three, with the Hon. Sam Budd, pondered the problem. They could
not build a town without law and order--they could not have law
and order without taking part themselves, and even then they
plainly would have their hands full. And so, that night, on the
tiny porch of the little cottage that was Hale's sleeping-room and
office, with the creaking of the one wheel of their one industry--
the old grist-mill--making patient music through the rhododendron-
darkness that hid the steep bank of the stream, the three pioneers
forged their plan. There had been gentlemen-regulators a plenty,
vigilance committees of gentlemen, and the Ku-Klux clan had been
originally composed of gentlemen, as they all knew, but they meant
to hew to the strict line of town-ordinance and common law and do
the rough everyday work of the common policeman. So volunteer
policemen they would be and, in order to extend their authority as
much as possible, as county policemen they would be enrolled. Each
man would purchase his own Winchester, pistol, billy, badge and a
whistle--to call for help--and they would begin drilling and
target-shooting at once. The Hon. Sam shook his head dubiously:

"The natives won't understand."

"We can't help that," said Hale.

"I know--I'm with you."

Hale was made captain, Logan first lieutenant, Macfarlan second,
and the Hon. Sam third. Two rules, Logan, who, too, knew the
mountaineer well, suggested as inflexible. One was never to draw a
pistol at all unless necessary, never to pretend to draw as a