“Pretty well,” he answered faintly—his old reply.
“That’s good!” and Elliott tried to smile as he sank wearily into a chair.
Mr. Carr, noticing how thinly his lips fitted about his white, even teeth, asked, “What have they done to my boy?”
“Done enough, father,” said Elliot, starting up and revealing his haggard, agitated face. “They have postponed the trial.”
CHAPTER XXI.
The coming of October brought the next term of court. What seemed an age had at last terminated and Ephriam Cooley was again brought to trial. His removal from the prison to the courthouse was without incident. The prisoner was guarded in the most thorough manner against possible molestation. The regular police guards were reinforced by deputies sworn in by the sheriff, and the vicinity of the court had, in consequence, the appearance of an armed camp.
Police were stationed at every approach as well as in the hall and every preparation had been made to quell instantly any attempt at lawless interference with the ordinary course of law.
When the doors opened, the waiting crowd was allowed to enter and in a few minutes all the available space within the courtroom was densely packed.
The judge took his seat.
Ephriam Cooley entered between two officers, handcuffed, his bold, insulting eyes wearing a look of sullen defiance, his unkempt beard lending more than ever an animal look to his face.