Gaston got upon the auction stand, and said:
'I'll serve, gentlemen; but, before we select jurors, the sale must go on. Miss Preston is not sold yet.'
'All right! all right! Hurry up, Mr. Hammerman!' shouted the crowd.
The auctioneer took his place:
'A thousand dollars is bid for this young lady. Going—gone—gone, to Mr. Joseph Preston.'
Selma put her arms about Joe's neck, and, in broken tones, said: 'My brother! my dear brother!' Then she laid her head on his shoulder, and wept—wept unrestrainedly.
Who can fathom the untold misery she had endured within those two hours?
CHAPTER XXVI.
The impromptu judge took his seat on the bench, and the excited multitude once more subsided into quiet. In about fifteen minutes a tumult arose in a remote quarter of the ground, and Mulock and his pursuers appeared in sight, shouting, screaming, and swearing in a decidedly boisterous manner. The most of the profanity—to the credit of the self-appointed posse comitatus be it said—was indulged in by the ex-overseer, who, with his clothes torn in shreds, and his face covered with blood, looked like the battered relic of a forty years' war. A red bandanna pinioned his arms to his sides, and a strong man at each elbow spurred his flagging footsteps by an occasional poke with a pine branch. Ally followed at a few paces, looking about as dilapidated as the culprit himself. To him evidently belonged the glory of the capture.
As they approached the stand. Gaston rose, and called out: