glance
unwaveringly.

Then at the bar Opdyke halted, with nothing of the suppliant in his
bearing. He thrust a hand into each coat pocket, and with an eloquent
ringing of ironmongery, slammed a brace of heavy revolvers on the table
before him. The two henchmen stood silent, each with right hand in right
pocket.

"I heered my name called," announced the defendant in a deep-rumbling
voice of challenge, "an' hyar I be--but, afore God on high, I aims ter
git me jestice in this co'te!"

Had the man on the bench permitted the slightest ripple of anxiety to
disconcert his steadfastness of gaze just then pandemonium was ripe for
breaking in his courtroom. But the judge looked down with imperturbable
calm as though this were the accustomed procedure of his court, and when
a margin of pause had intervened to give his words greater effect he
spoke in a level voice that went over the room and filled it, and he
spoke, not to the defendant, but to Joe Bratton the "high-sheriff" of
that county.

[Illustration: "_Dorothy flashed past him ... and a few seconds later
he heard the clean-lipped snap of the rifle in a double report_"]

"Mr. Sheriff," he said, slowly and impressively, "the co'te instructs
you to disarm Sam Opdyke an' put him under arrest fer contempt. An',
Mr. Sheriff, when I says ter arrest him ... I mean to put him in ther
jail ... an' I don't _only_ mean to put him in ther jail but in a cell
and leave him there till this co'te gets ready for him. When this co'te
_is_ ready, it will let you know." He paused there in the dead hush of
an amazed audience, then continued on an even key: "An', Mr. Sheriff, if
there's any disquiet in your mind about your ability to take this
prisoner into custody, an' hold him securely in such custody, the co'te
instructs you that you are empowered by law to call into service as your
posse every able-bodied man in the jurisdiction of this county....
Moreover, Mr. Sheriff, the co'te suggests that when you get ready to
summons this posse--an' it had ought to be right here an' now--you call
me fer the fust man to serve on it, an' that you call Hump Doane and
Parish Thornton fer ther second an' third men on it...."

A low wave of astonished voices went whispering over the courtroom, from
back to front, but the judge, ignoring the two revolvers which still lay
on the table fifteen feet away, and the livid face of the man from whose
pockets they had been drawn, rapped sharply with his g