"Men," instructed McAllister Falkins, with the decisiveness of a general officer who has no doubt of instant obedience for his commands, "take that boy's gun away from him until I'm through." For a moment they hesitated, and the boy himself tightened his grip on his weapon until his knuckles showed in white spots.
McAllister Falkins caught the wrist and held it; without a word the three elder kinsmen surrounded and disarmed the young insurgent. Instantly, McAllister Falkins wheeled to face the Spooners.
"Jim Spooner, Joe Belmear, Jerry Sparvin!" He ripped out the names rapidly and crisply. "Do you do likewise with Red Newton and Buddy Spooner."
But the two defendants had been reading the signs, and, as their kinsmen came forward, they voluntarily surrendered their weapons.
"Now," went on the old man, "I'm going to ask you boys on both sides of the road to show me one more evidence of good faith. Let all the men in the front of this crowd carry back their guns and stack them at the rear. Then let them come forward again. Don't let us have any rifles or pistols at the front."
Rather wondering at their ready compliance, yet under the force of something like a spell and also with a sense of immense relief, the crowd began shifting and jostling, and when it again fell quiet not a barrel or stock was visible.
Slowly old McAllister ascended the court-house steps and stood looking down.
"Now," he announced quietly, "I want those same three Falkins men and those same three Spooners, still armed, to come up here and stand on either side of me. I wish to have the honor of their services as my escort and body guard."
As he spoke the last words the old orator smiled, and through the crowd, humorless and grim as it was, ran a murmur of responsive laughter at the ludicrous jest of this old lion asking personal protection. Yet he had drawn impartially from both elements, and the men named stepped to their places with alacrity.
Then the old man began to speak.