rd, and joined him now. He was not the most
formidable looking of allies, but he stood beside them as if he had a
right to be there, and the Colonel turned to him as if he recognized it.

"Hugh, you heard what he said?" he appealed; "you heard?"

"Judge, you keep out of this," Brady called, "keep out, sir."

Judge Saxon, keeping a casual hand on his most prominent client's arm,
stood regarding Mr. Brady with mild and friendly blue eyes. He had quite
his usual air of being detached from his surroundings, but benevolently
interested in them.

"Charlie," he said, as if he were recognizing Mr. Brady for the first
time at this critical moment, and deriving pleasure from it. "Why,
Charlie," his voice became gently reproachful, but remained friendly,
too. "Everard, this boy don't mean a word he says," he went on, with
conviction, "he's excited and you're excited, too. This is a pretty poor
time for you to get excited, Everard."

"You're right, Hugh," muttered the Judge's most prominent client
thickly; "you're right. Get him away. Get him home."

"He's a good boy," pronounced the Judge.

It was not the obvious description of Mr. Brady just at that moment.
There was only friendly amusement in the Judge's drawling voice and
shrewd eyes, but back of it, unmistakably there, was something that made
every careless word worth listening to. Mr. Brady was resisting it. His
face worked pitifully.

"Judge, I told you to keep out. I don't want to hurt you."

"Thanks, Charlie."

"Every word I say is God's truth, Judge."

The Judge did not contradict this sweeping statement. He was studying
Mr. Brady's weapon with some interest. "Your uncle's," he commented,
pleased. "Why, I didn't know you still owned that thing, Charlie."

"I want Maggie. I want----"

"I'll tell you what you want," offered the Judge, amicably, "you want to
hand that thing to me, and go home."

Mr. Brady received this suggestion in silence, a silence which left his
audience uncertain how deeply he resented it. Indeed, they were
painfully uncertain, and showed it. Bits of advice reached the Judge's
ears, contradictory, though much of it sound, but he took no notice of
it. He only smiled his patient and wistful smile and waited, like a man
who knew what would happen next.

"Hand it to me," he repeated gently.

"I won't, Judge." Mr. Brady's weapon wavered, and then steadied itself.
His thin body trembled. The fanatic light in his eyes blazed bright. The
exc