There was one stunned moment of absolute silence, and then the place erupted into sound and movement. In the midst of it, in the heart of it, the Chief of the Michigans and the man in the linen shirt were possessed of the same idea. Crying "Spy!", they flung themselves at Price with their knives drawn.
Remembering a trick or two the Army had taught him, Price stepped inside the chief's rush, caught his wrist, and flung him into the other, who had been slowed by the necessity of climbing onto the stand. And Price yelled at them furiously,
"Are you crazy? I wasn't near that side of the room. I didn't bring it and plant it here."
Twist stepped between him and the two men, drawing his own knife. "He wasn't, and that's a fact. Besides—"
"Get out of my way!" roared Michigan.
Unexpectedly, Burr leaped up and pulled him back. "I was close to him as his own skin, every minute," he said. "He didn't move, and he didn't have that thing on him to drop if he'd wanted to."
"We searched him," said Twist, "days ago. Personal."
"Then you're traitors too," said Michigan, clinging to his single idea. He started to charge again, and now there were others swarming up onto the stand after him, screaming for Price's blood.
Sawyer moved like a big cat. Michigan stopped in mid-stride, with the point of Sawyer's knife touching his heart-ribs.