Here Robinson, casting his eyes round, spied McLaughlan, and, being minded to dilute the severity of his jury, he cried out, “Scotland. McLaughlan, you shall represent her.”
No answer.
“McLaughlan,” cried several voices, “where are ye? Don't you hear Judge Lynch speak to you?”
“Come, McLaughlan, come over; you are a respectable man.”
Mr. McLaughlan intimated briefly in his native dialect that he was, and intended to remain so; by way of comment on which he made a bolt from the judgment-hall, but was rudely seized and dragged before the judge.
“For Heaven's sake, don't be a fool, McLaughlan. No man must refuse to be a juryman in a trial by lynch. I saw a Quaker stoned to death for it in California.”
“I guess I was thyar,” said a voice behind the judge, who shifted uneasily.
McLaughlan went into the jury-box with a meaning look at Robinson, but without another audible word.
“Mercy! mercy!” cried Walker.
“You must not interrupt the proceedings,” said Judge Lynch.