low was struck--his
business was all down river--but we are going to keep him here to answer
for his crimes! The law, as implacable as it is impartial, has put its
mark on him--the shadow in which he sits is the shadow of the gallows!"

The judge paused, but the only sound in that expectant silence was the
heavy breathing of men. He drew his unwieldy form erect, while his voice
rumbled on, aggressive and threatening in its every intonation.

"You are here to defend something that no longer exists. Your
organization is wrecked, your signals and passwords are known, your
secrets have become public property--I can even produce a list of your
members; there are none of you who do not stand in imminent peril--yet
understand, I have no wish to strike at those who have been misled or
coerced into joining Murrell's band!" The judge's sodden old face glowed
now with the magnanimity of his sentiments. "But I have no feeling
of mercy for your leaders, none for Murrell himself. Put down your
guns!--you can only kill us after we have killed Murrell--but you can't
kill the law! If the arch conspirator dies in this room and hour, on
whose head will the punishment fall?" He swung round his ponderous arm
in a sweeping gesture and shook a fat but expressive forefinger in the
faces of those nearest him. "On yours--and yours--and yours!"

Across the space that separated them the judge grinned his triumph at
his enemy. He had known when Fentress entered the room that a word or
a sign from him would precipitate a riot, but he knew now that neither
this word nor this sign would be given. Then quite suddenly he strode
down the aisle, and foot by foot Fentress yielded ground before his
advance. A murderous light flashed from the judge's bloodshot eyes and
his right hand was stealing toward the frayed tails of his coat.

"Look out--he's getting ready to shoot!" cried a frightened voice.

Instantly by doors and windows the crowd, seized with inexplicable
panic, emptied itself into the courthouse yard. Fentress was caught
up in the rush and borne from the room and from the building. When he
reached the graveled space below the steps he turned. The judge was in
the doorway, the center of a struggling group; Mr. Bowen, the minister,
Mr. Saul and Mr. Wesley were vainly seeking to pinion his arm.

"Draw--damn you!" he roared at Fentress, as he wrenched himself free,
and the crowd swayed to right and left as Fentress was seen to reach for
his pist