Each man, after dismounting, walked up to where the captive lay, and gave him a searching look, and then they joined those who had already preceded them, and who were quietly chatting about wheat, cattle, trees—everything but the prisoner.
Suddenly one of the party separated himself from the others, and exclaimed:
“Gentlemen, there don’t seem to be anybody else a-comin’—we might as well ’tend to bizness. I move that Major Burkess takes the chair, if there’s no objections.”
No objections were made, and Major Burkess—a slight, peaceable, gentlemanly-looking man—stepped out of the crowd, and said:
“You all know the object of this meeting, gentlemen. The first thing in order is to prove the identity of the prisoner.”
“Needn’t trouble yourself ’bout that,” growled the prisoner. “I’m Bill Bowney; an’ yer too cowardly to untie me, though ther be a dozen uv yer.”
“The prisoner admits he is Bill Bowney,” continued the major, “but of course no gentleman will take offense at his remarks. Has any one any charge to make against him?”
“Charges?” cried an excitable farmer. “Didn’t I catch him untying my horse, an’ ridin’ off on him from Budley’s? Didn’t I tell him to drop that anamile, an’ didn’t he purty near drop me instead? Charges?—here’s the charge!” concluded the farmer, pointing significantly to a scar on his own temple.
“Pity I didn’t draw a better bead!” growled the prisoner. “The hoss only fetched two ounces.”
“Prisoner admits stealing Mr. Barke’s horse, and firing on Mr. Barke. Any further evidence?”