The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1912-03-27
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VAUGHAN HESTER @M1&6

! in anyhow when they get ready, 81
there's no sense in exciting them"
In the court house, Murrell, bound
hand and foot, was seated between
Darlington and the Earl of Lambeth
in the little railed-off space below the
judges bench. Fear and suffering had
blanched his unshaven cheeks and Civ
en- a wild light to his deeply sunken
eyes. At sight of Yancy a smothered
exclamation broke from his lips; he
had supposed this man dead these
many months!
Hues had abandoned his post, and
the crowd, suddenly grown clamor'
Gus, stormed the narrow entrance. One
of the doors, borne from its hinges,
went down with a crash. The judge,
free light flashing from his eyes,
turned to Yancy.
mo matter what happens, this fel'
low Murrell is not to escape-f he
calls on his friends to rescue him he
is to be shot"
The hall was filling with swearing,
struggling men, the floor shook be-
meath their heavy tread; then they
burst into the court room and saluted
Murrell with great shout. But Muir
rell, bound, in rage, and silent, his
lips frozen in wolfish grin, was a
depressing sight and the boldest felt
something of his unrestrained lawless-
ness go from him.
Less noisy now, the crowd spread
itself out among the benches or
swarmed up into the tiny gallery at
the back of the building. Man after
man had hurried forward, intent on
passing beyond the railing, but each
had encountered the Judge, formid-
able and forbidding and had turned
aside. Gradually the many pairs OF
eyes rowing over the little group sur
rounding the outlaw focused them
selves on Slocum Price. 1t was in
unconscious recognition of that moral
force which was his, tribute of the
grim dignity of his mistaken cour-
age: what he would do seemed worth
considering.
He was charmed to hear his name
pass in whisper from lip to lip.
Well, it was time they knew him! He
III; oh and
made a gesture commanding silence.
Battered, shabby and debauched, he
was like some old war horse who shifts
the odor of battle that the wind in
continently brings to his nostrils.
Don't let him speak," cried voice,
and a tumult succeeded.
Cool and indomitable the judge
waited for it to subside. He saw that
the color was stealing back into Muir
relIs face. The outlaw was feeling
that he was leader not overthrown;
these were his friends and followers,
his safety was their safety, too. In
lull in the storm of sound the judge
attempted to make himself heard,
but his words were lost in the angry
roar that descended on him.
Don't let him speak! Kill him!
Kill him."
A score of men sprang to their feet
and from all sides came the click OF
rifle and pistol hammers as they were
drawn to full cock. The judges fate
seemed to rest on breath. He swung
about on his heel and gave a curt nod
to Yancy and Cavendish, who, falling
back step, tossed their guns to their
shoulders and covered Murrell. A sud
den hush grew up out of the tumult;
the cries, angry and jeering, dwindled
to murmur, and dead pail OF silence
rested on the crowded room.
The vast taste of triumph was in
the Judges mouth Then came com
motion at the back of the building.