"Come on! Come on, everybody!"
In vain Judge Fulsom hammered on the bar and called for order in the
court room. The majesty of the law, as embodied in his great bulk,
appeared to have lost its power. Even his faithful henchman in the
red sweater had joined the rioters and was yelling wildly for his
rights. Somebody flung wide the door, and the barroom emptied itself
into the night, leaving the oily young man at his post of duty gazing
fearfully at the purple face of Judge Fulsom, who stood staring, as
if stupefied, at the overturned chairs, the broken glasses and the
empty darkness outside.
"Say, Jedge, them boys was sure some excited," ventured the bartender
timidly. "You don't s'pose--"
The big man put himself slowly into motion.
"I'll get th' constable," he growled. "I--I'll run 'em in; and I'll
give Lute Parsons the full extent of the law, if it's the last thing
I do on earth. I--I'll teach them!--I'll give them all they're
lookin' for."
And he, too, went out, leaving the door swinging in the cold wind.
At the corner, still meditating vengeance for this affront to his
dignity, Judge Fulsom almost collided with the hurrying figure of a
man approaching in the opposite direction.
"Hello!" he challenged sharply. "Where you goin' so fast, my friend?"
"Evening, Judge," responded the man, giving the other a wide margin.
"Oh, it's Jim Dodge--eh? Say, Jim, did you meet any of the boys on
the road?"
"What boys?"
"Why, we got into a little discussion over to the Brookville House
about this Andrew Bolton business--his coming back unexpected, you
know; and some of the boys seemed to think they hadn't got all that
was coming to them by rights.
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