“I’ll look at no book, suh. Do you mean to tell me you have seen me day aftuh day and meditated this treacherous attempt?”
“There is no attempt and no treachery, Mr. Gilet. You could have taken the oath long ago, like other officials. You can take it to-day—or take the consequences.”
“What? You threaten me, suh? Do I understand you to threaten me? Gentlemen of the Council, it seems Idaho will be less free than Missouri unless we look to it.” The President of the Council had risen in his indignant oratorical might, and his more and more restless friends glared admiration at him. “When was the time that Price’s Left Wing surrendered?” asked the orator. “Nevuh! Others have, be it said to their shame. We have not toiled these thousand miles fo’ that! Others have crooked the pliant hinges of the knee that thrift might follow fawning. As fo’ myself, two grandfathers who fought fo’ our libuhties rest in the soil of Virginia, and two uncles who fought in the Revolution sleep in the land of the Dark and Bloody Ground. With such blood in my veins I will nevuh, nevuh, nevuh submit to Northern rule and dictation. I will risk all to be with the Southern people, and if defeated I can, with a patriot of old, exclaim,
“‘More true joy an exile feels
Than Cæsuh with a Senate at his heels.’
“Aye, gentlemen! And we will not be defeated! Our rights are here and are ours.” He stretched his arm towards the Treasurer’s strong-box, and his enthusiastic audience rose at the rhetoric. “Contain yo’selves, gentlemen,” said the orator. “Twelve o’clock and our bill!”
“I’ve said my say,” said Ballard, remaining seated.
“An’ what’ll ye do?” inquired Pete Cawthon from the agitated group.
“I forbid you to touch that!” shouted Ballard. He saw Wingo moving towards the box.
“Gentlemen, do not resort—” began Gilet.