“Go on!” he said, desperately. “We'll hear you out.”
“I wasn't goin' to use them nasty words myself,” the speaker smiled down into the beardless face from which they had issued, “for it wouldn't be becomin' on an occasion like this. Cold feet don't seem to fill the bill exactly, nohow. A man may have a cold pair when his judgment is ag'in' some move or other. The thing some of us new members find ourselves up against in our leader is rank cowardice, an' plenty of it.”
“Cowardice!” Hoag allowed his rigid lips to echo.
“That's the word,” the speaker stared fixedly, as low murmurs of approval swept through the immediate group around him and permeated the borders of the crowd in general.
“Explain yourself.” Hoag was conscious of fighting for some expedient of rescue under the shadow of toppling defeat.
“Oh, well, our boys have made up their minds that you are plumb without any sort o' real grit,” Welborne said, firmly. “You seem to be one solid bluff from beginnin' to end. We could cite half a dozen cases, not to mention the two times that Jeff Warren made you eat dirt an' lick the soles of his boots.”
“It's a lie!” Hoag floundered, recklessly. “A low, dirty lie!”
Welborne stepped out from the group and advanced half-way to the captain. “That's what I've been hopin' you'd git to,” he said, calmly. “I suppose you mean me. Now, rise from that log, Hoag, an' prove whether you got any backbone or not. You are not only a liar, but a low-lived coward in the bargain!”
Dead silence fell. Hoag was well aware that his power was gone—his throne had crumbled under his feet, for he saw the utter futility of fighting the young giant before him, and he knew that many of his supporters would regard it as inevitable.
“I didn't say you was a liar. I said—”