As the sergeant advanced and put his hand on the top layer of the heavy snake-fence, the Elder levelled his shot-gun and said:
“Ef you pull down that bar I'll shoot.”
The sergeant took his hand from the bar quickly, and turned to his commander as if awaiting further instructions.
“Mr. Conklin,” exclaimed the lieutenant, moving forward, “this is pure foolishness; we're twelve to one, and we're only soldiers and have to obey orders. I'm sorry, but I must do my duty.”
“That's so,” said the Elder, lowering his gun deliberately. “That's so, I guess. You hev your duty—p'r'aps I hev mine. 'Tain't my business to teach you yours.”
For a moment the lieutenant seemed to be undecided; then he spoke:
“Half-a-dozen of you advance and cover him with your rifles. Now, Mr. Conklin, if you resist you must take the consequences. Rebellion against the United States Government don't generally turn out well—for the rebel. Sergeant, down with the bar.”
The Elder stood as if he had not heard what had been said to him, but when the sergeant laid hold of the bar, the shot-gun went up again to the old man's shoulder, and he said:
“Ef you throw down that bar I'll shoot you.” Again the sergeant paused, and looked at his officer.
At this juncture Bancroft could not help interfering. The Elder's attitude had excited in him more than mere admiration; wonder, reverence thrilled him, and his blood boiled at the thought that the old man might possibly be shot down. He stepped forward and said: