"You're saving of your gunpowder, I see, sir," said O'Grady to the captain, with a sardonic grin.
"You seem to be equally sparing of your humanity, sir," returned the captain.
"God forbid I should be afraid of a pack of ruffians," said O'Grady.
"Or I of a single one," returned the captain, with a look of stern contempt.
There is no knowing what this bitter bandying of hard words might have led to, had it not been interrupted by the appearance of the sheriff at one of the windows of the court-house; there, with the Riot Act in his hand, he called out:—
"Now I've read it—fire away, boys—fire away!" and all his compunction about the effusion of blood vanished the moment his own miserable carcass was safe from harm. Again he waved the Riot Act from the window, and vociferated, "Fire away, boys!" as loud as his frog-like voice permitted.
"Now, sir, you're ordered to fire," said O'Grady to the captain.
"I'll not obey that order, sir," said the captain; "the man is out of his senses with fear, and I'll not obey such a serious command from a madman."
"Do you dare disobey the orders of the sheriff, sir?" thundered O'Grady.
"I am responsible for my act, sir," said the captain—"seriously responsible; but I will not slaughter unarmed people until I see further and fitter cause."