“Need I appear in the matter, sir?”
“Well, as I am judge, I’ll ask you to take a seat with me on the bench.”
“You are very kind, sir; but I am only a witness.”
“Well, you will have to face the prisoners and the crowd, so take a seat with me on the ‘bench.’”
The “judge” evidently felt the importance of his position, and, as he left the supper-room, lighted his pipe, and took up his position upon the piazza, where seats had already been placed for him and the prisoners.
The bench was one in reality, and Buffalo Bill sat down next to the judge, while the prisoners were placed in front of them.
The crowd had now increased to several hundred men, yet they were not noisy, and their silence was more expressive than their shouting would have been.
The prisoners were white with fear, for they sat where the light of a number of lanterns fell full upon them. They cast uneasy glances at the judge, baleful ones at Buffalo Bill, and pleading ones over the crowd, where they looked in vain for some sympathetic face.
The Vigilante captain called the meeting to order by rapping with his bowie-knife upon the bench. It was as effective, however, as a golden gavel in Congress would have been. Instantly there was a death-like silence.
“Gentlemen,” began the Vigilante captain, after clearing his throat, “you have honored me by making me captain of the Vigilantes of Yellow Dust Valley, and also have bestowed upon me the more honored title of Judge of the Criminal Court of Pocket City.