ence was made by you, and that it is true?"

"I do."

The shuffling of brogans and boots had died out. The fall of a pin might
have been heard at the ends of the room. Every Garvin heeler and every
Marcus adherent was sitting on the edge of his seat. Hands crept
furtively to holsters. There was a general gasp of surprise, then as by
a single impulse a number of men at one side near the back rose, and
across the aisle another group came silently to its feet. The factions
stood taut and motionless, eying each other with hatred. Marcus did not
for an instant resume his questioning and the utter silence was as
oppressive as the stillness that goes ahead of a cyclone. I knew what it
meant, as every one in the room knew. The feud-factions were crouching
for a spring. In another moment the ceiling might ring and rattle with
the cracking of pistols and reek with the stench of burnt powder. The
mountain territory has annals of such holocausts.

CHAPTER XXV

BEING LAUGHED AT.

Every one sat very still lest an excited movement or gesture precipitate
the storm. From my place on the slightly elevated witness chair I had a
full view of the scene in all its ominous tensity. It was as though
breathing had not alone stopped, but all living animation had for the
second been suspended. The body of men had been fixed as though
photographed. An incautious start or the sweep of a hand pocket-ward,
and the outburst would be inevitable.

There were three exceptions among those whom I may term non-combatants.
One reporter began edging down behind the table. Weighborne
unostentatiously shifted his position so as to place his bulky shoulders
between Frances Weighborne and the crowd, and She with an impatient
shifting declined his shielding and sat steadily looking to the front.
She was pale, as I suppose we all were, but perfectly composed.

Then Marcus wheeled and faced the rear of the room, deliberately turning
his back on the enemies who might kill him as they had killed his
partner. With both hands raised above his head and his thin, cuffless
wrists stretching out of his threadbare sleeves, he stood for a tense
moment in silence. His rugged countenance was black with the vehemence
of feeling and his deep eyes were burning.

"_Sit down!_" he thundered. He said no other word, but as he ripped out
that crisp and brief command he swept both arms and hands downward, and,
like hypnotic subjects answering the gesture of the demonstr