r with the bushy redhead, he guessed, was the leader of the Falin
clan. Outside the door stood a smaller replica of the same figure, whom
he recognized as the leader of the band that had nearly ridden him down
at the Gap when they were looking for young Dave Tolliver, the autumn
before. That, doubtless, was young Buck. For a moment he stood at the
door of the court-room. A Falin was on trial and the grizzled judge was
speaking angrily:

"This is the third time you've had this trial postponed because you
hain't got no lawyer. I ain't goin' to put it off. Have you got you a
lawyer now?"

"Yes, jedge," said the defendant.

"Well, whar is he?"

"Over thar on the jury."

The judge looked at the man on the jury.

"Well, I reckon you better leave him whar he is. He'll do you more good
thar than any whar else."

Hale laughed aloud--the judge glared at him and he turned quickly
upstairs to his work in the deed-room. Till noon he worked and yet there
was no trouble. After dinner he went back and in two hours his work was
done. An atmospheric difference he felt as soon as he reached the door.
The crowd had melted from the square. There were no women in sight, but
eight armed men were in front of the door and two of them, a red Falin
and a black Tolliver--Bad Rufe it was--were quarrelling. In every
doorway stood a man cautiously looking on, and in a hotel window he saw
a woman's frightened face. It was so still that it seemed impossible
that a tragedy could be imminent, and yet, while he was trying to
take the conditions in, one of the quarrelling men--Bad Rufe
Tolliver--whipped out his revolver and before he could level it, a Falin
struck the muzzle of a pistol into his back. Another Tolliver flashed
his weapon on the Falin. This Tolliver was covered by another Falin
and in so many flashes of lightning the eight men in front of him were
covering each other--every man afraid to be the first to shoot, since he
knew that the flash of his own pistol meant instantaneous death for him.
As Hale shrank back, he pushed against somebody who thrust him aside. It
was the judge:

"Why don't somebody shoot?" he asked sarcastically. "You're a purty set
o' fools, ain't you? I want you all to stop this damned foolishness. Now
when I give the word I want you, Jim Falin and Rufe Tolliver thar, to
drap yer guns."

Already Rufe was grinning like a devil over the absurdity of the
situation.

"Now!" said the judge, and the two guns were dr