"I do; but even supposing those terms applied to me, what right have you to take the office of justice upon yourself?"
"What right? That of the people—of honest men! The right that justifies a man in killing a snake, or ridding the community of a scourge. We are vigilantes—did you ever hear of them before—in Kentucky, for instance?" sternly replied Neil, with a biting sneer upon the last question.
"Ah!"
It was only one word, but it comprised a world of bitterness—one might almost say of anguish and despair. It seemed as if a dreadful blow had been stricken him, and for a moment he bowed his head beneath it; but only for a moment. Then he was as cool and as proud as before.
"Very well. I suppose I am your prisoner?"
"You are."
"Aunt Eunice, don't be alarmed, I will return soon." Then turning to McGuire, he added, "I presume I will have a fair trial?"
"We are not murderers—only the ministers of justice," was the stern reply.
"Then, aunty, when I send for you, come. I may need your evidence."
"'Deed, Marse Clay, honey," sobbed the old woman, pressing forward, "I's gwine along too."