t last, after what seemed minutes to the silent, motionless
congregation, his raised hand came down on the shoulder of the leader
with the exact, resistless precision of the tiger's paw, and the ruffian
was snatched from his seat to the floor sprawling. Before he could rise,
the steel-like grip of the roused preacher sent him half way to the
door, and then out into the dirt of the road.

Turning, Pill came back down the aisle; as he came the half-risen
congregation made way for him, curiously. When he came within reach of
Dick, the fellow struck savagely out at the preacher, only to have his
blow avoided by a lithe, lightning-swift movement of the body above the
hips (a trained boxer's trick), and to find himself also lying bruised
and dazed on the floor.

By this time the rest of the brothers had recovered from their stupor,
and, with wild curses, leaped over the benches toward the fearless Pill.

But now a new voice was heard in the sudden uproar--a new but familiar
voice. It was the raucous snarl of William Bacon, known far and wide as
a terrible antagonist, a man who had never been whipped. He was like a
wild beast excited to primitive savagery by the smell of blood.

"_Stand back_, you hell-hounds!" he said, leaping between them and the
preacher. "You know me. Lay another hand on that man an', by the livun'
God, you answer t' me. Back thear!"

Some of the men cheered, most stood irresolute. The women crowded
together, the children began to scream with terror, while through it all
Pill was dragging his last assailant toward the door.

Bacon made his way down to where the Dixons had halted, undecided what
to do. If the preacher had the air and action of the tiger, Bacon looked
the grizzly bear--his eyebrows working up and down, his hands clenched
into frightful bludgeons, his breath rushing through his hairy nostrils.

"Git out o' hyare," he growled. "You've run things here jest about long
enough. Git out!"

His hands were now on the necks of two of the boys, and he was hustling
them toward the door.

"If you want 'o whip the preacher, meet him in the public road--one at a
time; he'll take care o' himself. Out with ye," he ended, kicking them
out. "Show your faces here agin, an' I'll break ye in two."

The non-combative farmers now began to see the humor of the whole
transaction and began to laugh; but they were cut short by the calm
voice of the preacher at his desk:

"But a _good_ deed, brethren, is lik