The demand, at first made by some half dozen voices, soon becomes a clamour, universally endorsed by the assemblage.
The judge dares not refuse compliance with a proposal so energetically urged: and, despite the informality, Cassius Calhoun is called upon to come before the Court.
The summons of the crier, thrice loudly pronounced, receives no response; and all eyes go in search of Calhoun.
There is only one pair that looks in the right direction—those of Zeb Stump.
The ci-devant witness is seen suddenly to forsake the spot on which he has been giving his testimony, and glide towards his old mare—still alongside the horse late relieved of his ghastly rider.
With an agility that surprises every one, the old hunter springs upon the mare’s back, and spurs her from under the tree.
At the same instant the spectators catch sight of a man, moving among the horses that stand picketed over the plain.
Though proceeding stealthily, as if to avoid being observed, he moves at a rapid rate—making for a particular quarter of the cavallada.
“’Tis he! ’Tis Calhoun!” cries the voice of one who has recognised him.
“Trying to steal off!” proclaims another.