but his words
were drowned in a tumult of voices.

"Go ahead!" cried several.

"Go ahead! Are you gwine to hold a court an' try 'im by law?" asked
Wambush, hotly. "I 'lowed that point was done settled."

Westerfelt calmly folded his arms. "I've no more to say. I see I'm
not going to be heard. You are a gang of cold-blooded murderers."

The words seemed to anger the leader.

"Shuck off that coat an' shirt!" was his order.

Westerfelt did not move. "I'm glad to say I'm not afraid of you," he
said. "If you have got human hearts in you, though, you'll kill me,
and not let me live after the degradation you are going to inflict. I
know who's led you to this. It is a cowardly dog who never had a thing
against me till I refused to let him have credit at my stable, when he
owes an account that's been running for two years. He tried to kill me
with a pistol and a knife when I was unarmed. He failed, and had to
get you to help him. You are not a bit better than he is. I'm no
coward. I've got fighting blood in me. Some of you'd acknowledge it
if I was to tell you who my father was. I have reason to believe there
are men here to-night who fought side by side with him in the war, and
were with him when he was shot down tryin' to hold up the flag at the
battle of Chickamauga. One of the dirty cowards he once carried off
the field when the whelp could hardly walk with a bullet in his leg!"

"What company wus that?" came from the edge of the crowd. The voice
was quivering.

"Forty-second Georgia."

For a moment no one spoke, then the same voice asked:

"Who wus your pa, young man?"

"Captain Alfred Stone Westerfelt, under Colonel Mills."

The tall slender figure of the questioner leaned forward breathlessly
and then pushed into the ring. Without a word he stood near
Westerfelt, unpinned the sheet that was round him, and slowly took off
his mask. Then he put a long forefinger into his mouth, pried a wad of
cotton out of each cheek, and threw them on the ground.

It was old Jim Hunter. He cleared his throat, spat twice, wiped his
mouth with his hand, and slowly swept the circle with his eyes.

"I'm the feller he toted out," he said. He cleared his throat again,
and went on:

"Boys, if thar's to be any whippin', ur tarrin' an' featherin' in this
case, I'm agin it tooth an' toe-nail. Cap Westerfelt's boy sha'n't
have a hair o' his head fetched on sech flimsy evi_dence_ as we've had
while I'm alive.