This was something like--it had a taste for the man-hunt! The sheriff snatched away the rope and dealt the officious gentleman a savage blow on the chin that sent him staggering backward into the arms of his friends.
"Now, see here, now--I'm going to arrest this old faller! I am going to put him in jail, and I ain't going to have no nonsense--do you hear me ?" he expostulated.
"I can explain--" cried the judge.
"Make him give me my money!" wailed Mrs Walker.
"Jezebel!" roared the judge, in a passion of rage.
"Ca'm's the word, or you'll get 'em started!" whispered the sheriff.
The judge looked fearfully around.

At his side stood Mahaffy, a yellow pallor splotching his thin cheeks.

He seemed to be holding himself there by an effort.
"Speak to them, Solomon--speak to them--you know how I came by the money! Speak to them--you know I am innocent!" cried the judge, clutching his friend by the arm.

Mahaffy opened his thin lips, but the crowd drowned his voice in a roar.
"He's his partner--" "There's no evidence against him," said the sheriff.
A tall fellow, in a fringed hunting-shirt, shook a long finger under Mahaffy's aquiline nose.
"You scoot--that's what--you make tracks! And if we ever see your ugly face about here again, we'll--" "You'll what ?" inquired Mahaffy.
"We'll fix you out with feathers that won't molt, that's what!" Mr.Mahaffy seemed to hesitate.

His lean hands opened and closed, and he met the eyes of the crowd with a bitter, venomous stare.