Judge Roberts—the name of him who presides—is in peril of being deposed; to be succeeded by the lawless Lynch!
And then what must follow? For Maurice Gerald no more trial; no condemnation: for that has been done already. No shrift neither; but a quick execution, occupying only the time it will take half a score of expert rope-men to throw a noose around his neck, and jerk him up to the limb of the live-oak stretching horizontally over his head!
This is the thought of almost everybody on the ground, as they stand waiting for some one to say the word—some bad, bold borderer daring enough to take the initiative.
Thanks be to God, the spectators are not all of this mind. A few have determined on bringing the affair to a different finale.
There is a group of men in uniform, seen in excited consultation. They are the officers of the Fort, with the commandant in their midst.
Only for a score of seconds does their council continue. It ends with the braying of a bugle. It is a signal sounded by command of the major.
Almost at the same instant a troop of two-score dragoons, with a like number of mounted riflemen, is seen filing out from the stockade enclosure that extends rearward from the Fort.
Having cleared the gateway, they advance over the open ground in the direction of the live-oak.
Silently, and as though acting under an instinct, they deploy into an alignment—forming three sides of a square, that partially encloses the Court!
The crowd has ceased its clamouring; and stands gazing at a spectacle, which might be taken for a coup de théâtre.