As Amos James was about to take his turn, amid flattering cries of 'Amos'll pull his head!' 'Amos'll git his head!' a man who had suddenly appeared on horseback at the verge of the clearing, and had paused, contemplating the scene, rode swiftly forward to the tree.
'Ye can't pull out'n turn—ye can't pull out'n turn, pa'son!' cried half a dozen voices from the younger men. The elders stared in amaze that the preacher should demean his calling by engaging in this public sport.
Kelsey checked his pace before he reached the blacksmith, who, seeing that he was not going to pull, forbore to lay on the lash. The next moment he thought that Kelsey was going to pull; he had risen in his stirrups with uplifted arm.
'What be you-uns a-goin' ter do?' demanded Gid Fletcher, amazed.
'I'm a-goin' ter take this hyar critter down.'
His words thrilled through the settlement like a current of electricity. The next phrase was lost in a wild chorus of exclamations.
'Take the gaynder down?'
'What fur?'
'Hi Kelsey hev los' his mind; surely he hev!'
Then above the angry, undistinguishable tumult of remonstrance the preacher's voice rose clear and impressive: