Part 131 (2/2)

But the eyes of the auditory are no longer fixed upon him. They know that his tale is completed; or, if not so, they need no further testimony to guide their conclusions.

They do not even stay for the deliberations of the Court, now proceeding to sift the evidence. Its action is too slow for men who have seen justice so near being duped--themselves along with it; and--swayed by a bitter reactionary spirit--revenge, proceeding from self-reproach--they call loudly for a change in the programme.

The Court is a.s.sailed with the cries:--

”Let the Irishman go--he is innocent! We don't want any farther evidence. We're convinced of it. Let him go free!”

Such is the talk that proceeds from the excited spectators.

It is followed by other speeches equally earnest:--

”Let Ca.s.sius Calhoun be arrested, and put upon his trial! It's he that's done the deed! That's why he's shown so bitter against the other! If he's innocent, he'll be able to prove it. He shall have a fair trial; but tried he shall be. Come, judge; we're waiting upon you!

Order Mr Calhoun to be brought before the Court. An innocent man's been there long enough. Let the guilty take his place!”

The demand, at first made by some half dozen voices, soon becomes a clamour, universally endorsed by the a.s.semblage.

The judge dares not refuse compliance with a proposal so energetically urged: and, despite the informality, Ca.s.sius Calhoun is called upon to come before the Court.

The summons of the crier, thrice loudly p.r.o.nounced, receives no response; and all eyes go in search of Calhoun.

There is only one pair that looks in the right direction--those of Zeb Stump.

The _ci-devant_ witness is seen suddenly to forsake the spot on which he has been giving his testimony, and glide towards his old mare--still alongside the horse late relieved of his ghastly rider.

With an agility that surprises every one, the old hunter springs upon the mare's back, and spurs her from under the tree.

At the same instant the spectators catch sight of a man, moving among the horses that stand picketed over the plain.

Though proceeding stealthily, as if to avoid being observed, he moves at a rapid rate--making for a particular quarter of the _cavallada_.

”'Tis he! 'Tis Calhoun!” cries the voice of one who has recognised him.

”Trying to steal off!” proclaims another.

”Follow him!” shouts the judge, in a tone of stern command. ”Follow, and bring him back!”

There is no need for the order to be repeated. Ere the words are well out, it is in the act of being obeyed--by scores of men who rush simultaneously towards their horses.

Before reaching them, Calhoun has reached his--a grey mustang, standing on the outskirts of the _cavallada_.

It is the same he has lately ridden in chase of the Headless Horseman.

The saddle is still upon its back, and the bitt between its teeth.

From the commotion observable under the tree, and the shouting that accompanies it, he has become cognisant of that terrible signal--the ”hue and cry.”

Concealment is no longer possible; and, changing from the stealthy pace to a quick earnest run, he bounds upon the animal's back.

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