“You mean Juniper?� said Caleb coolly. “Well, you won’t get him from me.�
“We know he’s about here!� was the angry retort, “and we’ll have him, d’ye hear?�
“I hear,� said Caleb, slipping his hand into his pocket. “You can search the woods; there are about three miles of them behind me, besides the highroad to Paradise Ridge.�
“We’re going to search your house,� replied the leader; “that’s what we’re going to do.�
“Are you?� said Caleb, in his usual tone, his eyes traveling over their heads, through the ghostly outlines of the cottonwoods, past the tallest pine to the brightening eastern sky.
Something in his aspect, something which is always present in supreme courage,—that impalpable but strenuous thing which quells the hearts of men before a leader,—quenched their fury.
“Look here, Caleb Trench, you were Yarnall’s lawyer; you ain’t in the damned Eaton mess. Where’s that Eaton nigger?�
Caleb’s hand closed on the handle of his revolver in his pocket. “Gentlemen,� he said quietly, “I happen to know that the negro, Juniper, did not shoot Mr. Yarnall, and if I know where he is now I will not tell you.�
“By God, you shall!� yelled the nearest rioter, swinging forward with uplifted fist.
He swung almost on the muzzle of Caleb’s revolver.