“I have no business to act as judge, but I know a story which may fit well into the case,” Mr. Chisholm hastened to explain, “and consequently I shall put everything to a vote. It’s settled, then, that I must have every article that belongs to Mr. Davenport. Henderson, I’ll thank you to hand over that hundred dollars.”
“What hundred dollars?” enquired the man; but a person could see that he was slightly uneasy. He did not like Mr. Chisholm’s way of talking.
“The hundred dollars you got while you were in the wagon,” returned Mr. Chisholm. “You done something when you were in the wagon that you had no business to do. You searched the body.”
“Well, I did it because I thought he had some papers about him that I had more business with than anybody else,” said Henderson; and when he uttered the words he looked at Mr. Chisholm as if to ask him what he was going to do about it. “I knew I couldn’t get them while a stranger was about.”
The man must have been crazy to talk this way in the presence of four hundred men who were assembled as a jury to try his rights of property. He was making enemies fast. I knew that around his camp fire he had talked to fellows who were gathered there until he had brought them to his own way of thinking; but they didn’t suppose that he was going to act the dunce at the first opportunity.
“You say you won’t hand them out?” enquired Mr. Chisholm, and anybody could see that he was getting mad.
“No, I won’t! The money is mine!”
“Hand ’em out here!” roared Mr. Chisholm.
“I tell you I won’t do it. It belongs to me!”
Our leader was a man who would not take this for an answer. He slowly and deliberately arose to his feet, the cowboys, especially his own and Mr. Davenport’s, drawing nearer to him, and when he got up the shining barrel of a six-shooter was looking Henderson squarely in the face. The man turned pale and stepped back. He gazed around at the cowboys, but none seemed ready to help him. On the contrary, they all folded their arms, and that was as good a sign as he wanted.