His right hand was raised, the other was clenched at his waist.

There was a sort of solemnity in his approach, like a tiger creeping upon a foe.
At last, after what seemed minutes to the silent, motionless congregation, his raised hand came down on the shoulder of the leader with the exact, resistless precision of the tiger's paw, and the ruffian was snatched from his seat to the floor sprawling.

Before he could rise, the steel-like grip of the roused preacher sent him half way to the door, and then out into the dirt of the road.
Turning, Pill came back down the aisle; as he came the half-risen congregation made way for him, curiously.

When he came within reach of Dick, the fellow struck savagely out at the preacher, only to have his blow avoided by a lithe, lightning-swift movement of the body above the hips (a trained boxer's trick), and to find himself also lying bruised and dazed on the floor.
By this time the rest of the brothers had recovered from their stupor, and, with wild curses, leaped over the benches toward the fearless Pill.
But now a new voice was heard in the sudden uproar--a new but familiar voice.

It was the raucous snarl of William Bacon, known far and wide as a terrible antagonist, a man who had never been whipped.