"But I have no feeling of mercy for your
leaders, none for Murrell himself. Put down your guns!--you can
only kill us after we have killed Murrell--but you can't kill the
law! If the arch conspirator dies in this room and hour, on
whose head will the punishment fall?" He swung round his
ponderous arm in a sweeping gesture and shook a fat but
expressive forefinger in the faces of those nearest him. "On
yours--and yours--and yours!"
Across the space that separated them the judge grinned his
triumph at his enemy. He had known when Fentress entered the
room that a word or a sign from him would precipitate a riot, but
he knew now that neither this word nor this sign would be given.
Then quite suddenly he strode down the aisle, and foot by foot
Fentress yielded ground before his advance. A murderous light
flashed from the judge's bloodshot eyes and his right hand was
stealing toward the frayed tails of his coat.
"Look out--he's getting ready to shoot!" cried a frightened
voice.
Instantly by doors and windows the crowd, seized with
inexplicable panic, emptied itself into the courthouse yard.
Fentress was caught up in the rush and borne from the room and
from the building. When he reached the graveled space below the
steps he turned. The judge was in the doorway, the center of a
struggling group; Mr. Bowen, the minister, Mr. Saul and Mr.
Wesley were vainly seeking to pinion his arm.
"Draw--damn you!" he roared at Fentress, as he wrenched himself
free, and the crowd swayed to right and left as Fentress was seen
to reach for his pistol.
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