Pierre guarded the wagon in the center of the street and kept the people under cover of his rifle.

The rest of Boone's men cleaned out the houses as they went and sent the occupants piling out to swell the crowd.
And so they rolled the crowd out of town and to the cemetery, where "volunteers" dug the grave of Martin Ryder wide and deep, and Pierre paid for the corner plot three times over in gold.
Then a coffin--improvised hastily for the occasion out of a packing-box--was lowered reverently, also by "volunteer" mourners, and before the first sod fell on the dead.

Pierre raised over his head the crucifix of Father Victor that brought good luck, and intoned a service in the purest Ciceronian Latin, surely, that ever regaled the ears of Morgantown's elect.
The moment he raised that cross the bull throat of Jim Boone bellowed a command, the poised guns of the gang enforced it, and all the crowd dropped to their knees, leaving the six outlaws scattered about the edges of the mob like sheep dogs around a folding flock, while in the center stood Pierre with white, upturned face and the raised cross.
So Martin Ryder was buried with "trimmings," and the gang rode back, laughing and shouting, through the town and up into the safety of the mountains.

Election day was fast approaching and therefore the rival candidates for sheriff hastily organized posses and made the usual futile pursuit.
In fact, before the pursuit was well under way, Boone and his men sat at their supper table in the cabin.

The seventh chair was filled; all were present except Jack, who sulked in her room.