“No more shooting, boys!” shouted Judge Harlin. “We’ve buffaloed ’em—let ’em go!”
“You’re always spoilin’ the fun, Judge,” Nick complained. “This job was too easy! Now, did you ever see such a pack of cowards start on a lynchin’ bee? But I reckon they’ve learned one lesson and won’t try to lynch Emerson again in a hurry.”
The next day excitement ran higher than ever. The Republicans, smarting under their defeat, were in a white heat of indignation over what they believed was a deliberate plan to ambush and kill their leading men. The Democrats, while they were jubilant over their victory, were equally indignant over what they declared was an attempt, by the very men who ought to have protected him, to lynch Emerson Mead. In reality, each side had been trying to protect him and uphold the law, but each scoffed at and spurned the story of the other. Main street was in two hostile camps and all the fire-arms in the town that were not already in evidence in holsters and hip pockets, were brought to the center of hostilities and placed within handy reaching distance in shops and offices. Behind the bar in each of the saloons was a stack of shot-guns and rifles. The sidewalk on each side of the street was constantly crowded, but nobody crossed from one side to the other.
The women began to feel the war spirit and early in the day Judge Harlin’s wife and John Daniels’ wife, who were ordinarily the dearest friends, passed each other on the street without speaking. The ladies of Las Plumas were accustomed to meet at frequent teas, luncheons and card parties on terms of the greatest cordiality, but long before night, if any one whose masculine affiliations were on one side met one belonging to the other, they passed with a haughty stare.
Sheriff Daniels was much disturbed over the situation, fearing that he would be unable to keep his prisoner in jail. He talked the matter over with his advisers and together they decided that the best plan would be to get Emerson Mead out of town for the present, and accordingly a telegram was sent to the sheriff of the adjoining county asking permission to lodge Mead temporarily in his jail. The Democrats heard of this plan, and Nick Ellhorn fumed indignantly. Judge Harlin was secretly pleased, and contrived to send word to Colonel Whittaker, Sheriff Daniels and Jim Halliday that he approved their plan and would do his best to control the Democratic faction while they were making the change. He did not tell Nick Ellhorn that he had done this, but he reasoned with that loyal friend at great length on the matter.
“But see here, Judge,” Nick replied to all his arguments, “I got Emerson into trouble this time and I’ve got to get him out. If he hadn’t been chasin’ around alone, tryin’ to get me out of the beastly drunken scrape I’d been fool enough to get into, this wouldn’t have happened. You know it wouldn’t, Judge. It’s all my fault, and I’ve got to get Emerson out of it.”
“That’s all right, Nick. Your loyalty to Emerson does you great credit. Much more than your judgment does. But if you’ll just wait a week or two the grand jury will pronounce on his case, and they’re bound to let the bottom out of the whole thing. They’ll never find a true bill against him, with no evidence to go on and no proof even that Will Whittaker is dead. Then Emerson will come out a vindicated man and they will have to let him alone after that. His interests will not suffer now by his being detained a few days, and he will gain in the respect of the community by submitting quietly. Take my advice, Nick, and keep still, and let matters follow their legal course for the next week or two.”
“A week or two, Judge! And let Emerson stay in jail all that time? When he’s no more right to be there than you or me! Sure, now, Judge! and what do you-all take me for, anyway?”
“For a sensible man, Nick, who will see the reason in what I have been saying and will take my advice in the matter.”