Old-timers in the scrub said to Mart, “You cain’t git no deer in the open season. Them hunters from all over is a-stirrin’ up the woods with their dogs an’ their fuss an’ their shootin’. They thinks it’s a big thing, do a whole camp git ’em a deer. You jest wait ’til the law closes down. Closed season is open season for us what lives here. The deer gits to be a plumb nuisance in the spring and summer. You cain’t make cow-peas, nary a crop, the deer is so crazy for ’em. They’ll leap ary fence to git to ’em. You kin git all the deer you want. You jest wait.”

It was the venison that gave Eph away. He was ready to get rid of Mart. He had his market for his liquor, his price established. He was ready to move the still close to his own cabin, let his girl do some of the work, and collect the profits instead of sharing them.

Mart had been timorous about shooting deer out of season. The meat was more than they could use before it spoiled. Tales had reached him of the high fines imposed for out-of-season shooting. But in the first heat of May, Florry had not been well. She was languid, without appetite. They had had no fresh meat for some weeks. A young buck paused within range of Mart one afternoon. Before it could show its white scut and flash away, Mart had brought it down. He broiled the choice steaks over live-oak coals. Florry enjoyed it and ate plentifully. She thought it made her feel a little livelier.

The next morning, on his way down the river to help old man Bradson round up hogs, he carried a hindquarter of venison to Eph. He was pleased to bring such a fine gift to his friend. Eph took it with thanks. As later testimony brought out, he and the girl gorged on it that day and the next. Then Eph drove to Waleka, looked up the game warden and turned Mart up. Eph swore to an affidavit that to his personal knowledge one Martin had shot a buck deer on May the eighteenth.

The trial is still talked of. All over the scrub, through Marion and Putnam counties, one man says of another, “He’s as good a neighbor as Eph Harper,” and it is known at once what depths of treachery are implied.

The lawyer who had volunteered to defend Mart questioned Eph’s girl.

“How can you swear the meat was deer meat? Venison is very similar to beef.”

“Well,” she hesitated, “I seed a deer-hair on hit.”

The crowded courtroom stirred.

A venerable Cracker announced audibly, “Dogged if that ain’t purty fine swearin’.”

Before Mart was put on the stand, old man Bradson rose majestically in court.

“Somethin’s jest come to me,” he announced.

The judge rapped for silence.

“That affidavit this here Harper has sweared to, do I understand the date be May eighteenth of this year?”