The horse-thief stepped between the dangling cleats and vanished.

The judge, armed with the stool, stood at bay.
"What next ?" a voice asked.
"Get dry brush--these are green logs--we'll burn this jail!" "Hold on!" the judge recognized the horse-thief as the speaker.

"There's an old party in there! No need to singe him!" "Friend ?" "No, I tried him." The judge tossed away the stool.

He understood now that these men were neither lynchers nor regulators.

With a confident, not to say jaunty step, he emerged from the jail.
"Your servant, gentlemen!" he said, lifting his hat.
"Git!" said one of the men briefly, and the judge moved nimbly away toward the woods.