"You have been catched passing counterfeit," said the sheriff. A
light broke on the judge, a light that dazzled and stunned. An
officious and impatient gentleman tossed a looped end of the
well-rope about his neck and the crowd yelled excitedly. This
was something like--it had a taste for the man-hunt! The sheriff
snatched away the rope and dealt the officious gentleman a savage
blow on the chin that sent him staggering backward into the arms
of his friends.
"Now, see here, now--I'm going to arrest this old faller! I am
going to put him in jail, and I ain't going to have no nonsense
--do you hear me?" he expostulated.
"I can explain--" cried the judge.
"Make him give me my money!" wailed Mrs Walker.
"Jezebel!" roared the judge, in a passion of rage.
"Ca'm's the word, or you'll get 'em started!" whispered the
sheriff. The judge looked fearfully around. At his side stood
Mahaffy, a yellow pallor splotching his thin cheeks. He seemed
to be holding himself there by an effort.
"Speak to them, Solomon--speak to them--you know how I came by
the money! Speak to them--you know I am innocent!" cried the
judge, clutching his friend by the arm. Mahaffy opened his thin
lips, but the crowd drowned his voice in a roar.
"He's his "partner--"
"There's no evidence against him," said the sheriff.
A tall fellow, in a fringed hunting-shirt, shook a long finger
under Mahaffy's aquiline nose.
"You scoot--that's what--you make tracks! And if we ever see
your ugly face about here again, we'll--"
"You'll what?" inquired Mahaffy.
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