The voice was Uncle Ben's.
"Stand back! This is no time for foolin'," said the sheriff roughly.
"He's right, Sheriff Briggs," said Stacey's voice hurriedly; "you're acting for HIM; he's the owner of the land." "What?
That Ben Dabney ?" "Yes; he's Daubigny, who bought the title from us." There was a momentary hush, and then a hurried murmur.
"Which means, gents," rose Uncle Ben's voice persuasively, "that this yer young man, though fair-minded and well-intended, hez bin a leetle too chipper and previous in orderin' out the law.

This yer ain't no law matter with ME, boys.

It ain't to be settled by law-papers, nor shot-guns and deringers.

It's suthin' to be chawed over sociable-like, between drinks.

Ef any harm hez bin done, ef anythin's happened, I'm yer to 'demnify the sheriff, and make it comf'ble all round.