Well, it was time they knew him! He squared his ponderous
shoulders and made a gesture commanding silence. Battered,
shabby and debauched, he was like some old war horse who sniffs
the odor of battle that the wind incontinently brings to his
nostrils.
"Don't let him speak!" cried a voice, and a tumult succeeded.
Cool and indomitable the judge waited for it to subside. He saw
that the color was stealing back into Murrell's face. The outlaw
was feeling that he was a leader not overthrown, these were his
friends and followers, his safety was their safety too. In a
lull in the storm of sound the judge attempted to make himself
heard, but his words were lost in the angry roar that descended
on him.
"Don't let him speak! Kill him! Kill him!"
A score of men sprang to their feet and from all sides came the
click of rifle and pistol hammers as they were drawn to the full
cock. The judge's fate seemed to rest on a breath. He swung
about on his heel and gave a curt nod to Yancy and Cavendish,
who, falling back a step, tossed their guns to their shoulders
and covered Murrell. A sudden hush grew up out of the tumult;
the cries, angry and jeering, dwindled to a murmur, and a dead
pall of silence rested on the crowded room.
The very taste of triumph was in the judge's mouth. Then came a
commotion at the back of the building, a whispered ripple of
comment, and Colonel Fentress elbowed his way through the crowd.
At sight of his enemy the judge's face went from white to red,
while his eyes blazed; but for the moment the force of his
emotions left him speechless.
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