the voice of the old Doane was raised from the
darkness:

"Whoever ye be over yon," it challenged, "lift up both yore hands. I'm
a-goin' ter light a lantern now an' come straight to'rds ye--but thar's
a rifle-gun ter ther right of ye an' a pistol ter ther left of ye--an'
ef ye makes a false move both of 'em'll begin shootin'."

Out there by the fence a voice answered sullenly in recognition of the
speaker--and realization of failure: "I hain't ergoin' ter shoot no
more. I gives up."

CHAPTER XXI

They helped Opdyke into the house and bandaged a wound in his leg, but
old Jim sat looking on with a stony face, and when the first aid had
been administered he said shortly: "Parish Thornton an' me hev jest been
a-studyin' erbout how ter handle ther likes of _you_. Ye come in good
season--an' so fur as kin be jedged from ther place whar thet ball hit,
no man kin say which one of us ye shot at. We aims ter make a sample of
ye, fer others ter regulate theirselves by, an' I reckon ye're goin' ter
sulter in ther penitenshery fer a spell of y'ars."

And when County Court day came there rode into town men of both
factions, led by Hump Doane and Parish Thornton, and the courtroom
benches were crowded with sightseers eager to hear that examining trial.
It had been excitedly rumoured that Opdyke would have something of
defiant insurgency to say and that perhaps a force would be found at his
back sufficiently strong to give grim effect to his words.

The defendant himself had not been "hampered in the jail-house" but had
walked free on his own recognizance, and, if report were true, he had
been utilizing his freedom to organize his sympathizers for resistance.
All in all, it promised to be a court day worth attending, with a
measuring of neighbourhood influences, open and hidden.

Now the judge ascended the bench and rapped with his gavel, and when the
name of Sam Opdyke was called, heads craned, feet shuffled, and an
oppressive silence fell.

Then down the centre aisle, from rear door to crescent-shaped counsel
table, stalked Opdyke himself with a truculent glitter in his eyes and a
defiant swing to his shoulders, though he still limped from his recent
wounding. A pace behind him walked two black-visaged intimates.

He looked neither to right nor left, but held the eyes of the man on the
bench, and the judge, who was slight of stature, with straw-coloured
hair and a face by no means imposing or majestic, returned his