Though the trees hindered her from having a view of the stage, she knew the actors that were on it; and could tell by their speeches how the play was progressing.
About the time of her dismounting, a tableau had been formed that merits a minute description.
The men, she had left behind, were no longer in scattered groups; but drawn together into a crowd, in shape roughly resembling the circumference of a circle.
Inside it, some half-score figures were conspicuous—among them the tall form of the Regulator Chief, with three or four of his “marshals.” Woodley Poindexter was there, and by his side Cassius Calhoun. These no longer appeared to act with authority, but rather as spectators, or witnesses, in the judicial drama about being enacted.
Such in reality was the nature of the scene. It was a trial for Murder—a trial before Justice Lynch—this grim dignitary being typified in the person of the Regulator Chief—with a jury composed of all the people upon the ground—all except the prisoners.
Of these there are two—Maurice Gerald and his man Phelim.
They are inside the ring, both prostrate upon the grass; both fast bound in raw-hide ropes, that hinder them from moving hand or foot.
Even their tongues are not free. Phelim has been cursed and scared into silence; while to his master speech is rendered impossible by a piece of stick fastened bitt-like between his teeth. It has been done to prevent interruption by the insane ravings, that would otherwise issue from his lips.
Even the tight-drawn thongs cannot keep him in place. Two men, one at each shoulder, with a third seated upon his knees, hold him to the ground. His eyes alone are free to move; and these rolling in their sockets glare upon his guards with wild unnatural glances, fearful to encounter.
Only one of the prisoners is arraigned on the capital charge; the other is but doubtfully regarded as an accomplice.