He had persuaded Judge Thomas Johnson to set up the courtroom in the middle of a mixture of canned food, harnesses, and bolts of cloth. Judge Johnson was a scrawny man with a wispy beard and a pair of sharp eyes that missed very little. He leaned back in a cane-bottomed chair from time to time, taking a bite out of the enormous pickle he had fished out of a barrel and paid for with a few pennies. His mouth puckered with the sourness of the delicacy, and it seemed to irritate him. “If you two gentlemen will get down to business, I’d appreciate it. I’ve got to be over at Raven Hill before dark.” Caleb Files spoke up immediately. “Judge, this is a very simple matter. I have a prior claim to this land in question, and all we need is a simple decision on your part to settle it.” Judge Johnson took another bite of the pickle, pursed his lips, and swallowed it before saying, “What say you to that, Mr. Jackson?”
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