There was no uproar now. A deadly calm had settled upon the assembly. A calm that spoke plainer than words on oaths.
It spoke of death.
"Gentlemen," slowly said the judge, "I need not ask if this pin is recognized; we all know it. And it shows that a bloody, dastardly deed has been committed. The verbal evidence is all given in; but still we must not be rash. Let us first search the river for the body, so that there may be no doubt. It is too late now to conclude to-night. Besides, the daylight is better. It will show that we are not ashamed of our actions."
"And what shall we do with the murderer?" interrupted one of the jurors.
"We can guard him until to-morrow. This room is safe especially as he will be bound."
"Well, he is guilty of counterfeiting, anyhow, and for that we condemn him to receive one hundred lashes upon the bare back. It would be more but for the other charge."
"Yes, and to-night! We won't go home without some fun," interrupted one of the spectators.
"I protest!" cried McGuire. "Let him suffer but one punishment. Don't let's act like savages."
"No, no," yelled the crowd, "do it now, or else we'll finish up the job off-hand."
The excitement now grew intense; weapons were freely drawn and brandished, and although the judge stood over the prisoner with ready revolver, he was unsupported. The jurors had gone with the majority.