The most vehement of them all was Judge Hollis,—the big, easy-going judge,—whose passion, once roused, was a thing to be reckoned with.
"It was a dastardly piece of cowardice," he cried. "You all saw what he did! Call the sheriff, there! I intend to prosecute him to the full extent of the law."
Ricks, with snapping eyes and snarling mouth, glanced anxiously around at the angry faces. He was looking for Carter Nelson, but Carter had discreetly departed. It was Sandy whom he spied, and instantly called: "Kilday, you'll see me through this mess? You know it wasn't none of my fault."
Sandy pushed his way to the judge's side. He had never hated the sight of Ricks so much as at that moment.
"It's Ricks Wilson," he whispered to the judge—"the boy I used to peddle with. Don't be sending him to jail, sir. I'll—I'll go his bail if you'll be letting him go."
"Indeed you won't!" thundered the judge. "You to take money you've saved for your education to help this scoundrel, this rascal, this half murderer!"
The crowd shouted its approval as it opened for the sheriff. Ricks was not the kind to make it easy for his captors, and a lively skirmish ensued.
As he was led away he turned to the crowd back of him and shook his fist in the judge's face.
"You done this," he cried. "I'll git even with you, if I go to hell fer it!"
The judge laughed contemptuously, but Sandy watched Ricks depart with troubled eyes. He knew that he meant what he said.