"They are going to fine him for hitting that cowardly Tory, and Caleb has not got any money," said he. "He will have to go to jail, and I will wager that that is where James wants him to be."
"He ain't got no money, ain't he? Well, I have been that way myself, and we will see what we can do to help him out."
It was strange what an uproar the giving of a warrant for the arrest of Caleb Young made in the village. Those "rebels" who had pushed their way out of the court-room while James was making his complaint had found plenty of friends to tell it to, and by the time they reached the street they saw any number of people, all hastening with eager footsteps toward the magistrate's office. When Zeke and Enoch arrived in front of the store, in the back part of which the judge held his court, they found the apartment jammed and the highway for twenty feet each way was packed full.
"Zeke," said a companion, "you don't get a show here."
"I must," replied Zeke. "I have got to see that fellow out."
"Well, get in if you can and if you want any help, just sing out."
It was a matter of some difficulty for Zeke to work his way through the crowd and up within sight of the magistrate's desk, but his size and weight had a good deal to do with it, and Enoch kept close behind him. When he got near enough to the desk he could hear that the magistrate was talking to the prisoner.
"And so you knocked James down?" was the question he heard.
"Yes, sir, I did," answered Caleb. "He said that——"
"I don't want to hear what he said," interrupted the magistrate. "I want to know what you did. You knocked him down and left him lying there. You did not care whether you killed him or not. I shall have to fine you one pound and costs."