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.
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