Riley placated the judge with his first appointment. "Judge Lodge," he said, "you know a pile about these here things. I appoint you clerk. It's your duty to take out that little notebook you got in your vest pocket and write down a note for the important things that's said. Savvy?"
"Right," replied Lodge, entirely won over, and he settled himself on the grass, with the notebook on his knee and a stub of a pencil poised over it.
"Larsen, you're sergeant-at-arms."
"How d'you mean that, Sinclair?"
"That's what they call them that keeps order; I disremember where I heard it. Larsen, if anybody starts raising a rumpus, it's up to you to shut 'em up."
"I'll sure do it," declared Larsen. "You can sure leave that to me, judge." He hoisted his gun belt around so that the gun butt hung more forward and readier to his hand.
"Denver, you're the jailer. You see the prisoner don't get away. Keep an eye on him, you see?"
"Easy, judge," replied Denver. "I can do it with one hand."
"Montana, you keep the door."
"What d'you mean—door, judge?"