There were other men in the hall, a dozen or more, and all seemed shouting excitedly in unison with the crowd outside.  I did not try to hear what was said.  I edged closer in, among the men to the front.

Sampson sat at a table up on a platform.  Near him sat a thick-set grizzled man, with deep eyes; and this was Hanford Owens, county judge.

To the right stood a tall, angular, yellow-faced fellow with a drooping, sandy mustache.  Conspicuous on his vest was a huge silver shield.  This was Gorsech, one of Sampson’s sheriffs.

There were four other men whom I knew, several whose faces were familiar, and half a dozen strangers, all dusty horsemen.

Steele stood apart from them, a little to one side, so that he faced them all.  His hair was disheveled, and his shirt open at the neck.  He looked cool and hard.

When I caught his eye I realized in an instant that the long deferred action, the beginning of our real fight was at hand.

Sampson pounded hard on the table to be heard.  Mayor or not, he was unable at once to quell the excitement.

Gradually, however, it subsided and from the last few utterances before quiet was restored I gathered that Steele had intruded upon some kind of a meeting in the hall.

“Steele, what’d you break in here for?” demanded Sampson.

“Isn’t this court?  Aren’t you the mayor of Linrock?” interrogated Steele.  His voice was so clear and loud, almost piercing, that I saw at once that he wanted all those outside to hear.

“Yes,” replied Sampson.  Like flint he seemed, yet I felt his intense interest.

I had no doubt then that Steele intended to make him stand out before this crowd as the real mayor of Linrock or as a man whose office was a sham.

“I’ve arrested a criminal,” said Steele.  “Bud Snell.  I charge him with assault on Jim Hoden and attempted robbery—­if not murder.  Snell had a shady past here, as the court will know if it keeps a record.”

Then I saw Snell hunching down on a bench, a nerveless and shaken man if there ever was one.  He had been a hanger-on round the gambling dens, the kind of sneak I never turned my back to.

Jim Hoden, the restaurant keeper, was present also, and on second glance I saw that he was pale.  There was blood on his face.  I knew Jim, liked him, had tried to make a friend of him.

I was not dead to the stinging interrogation in the concluding sentence of Steele’s speech.  Then I felt sure I had correctly judged Steele’s motive.  I began to warm to the situation.

“What’s this I hear about you, Bud?  Get up and speak for yourself,” said Sampson, gruffly.

Snell got up, not without a furtive glance at Steele, and he had shuffled forward a few steps toward the mayor.  He had an evil front, but not the boldness even of a rustler.

“It ain’t so, Sampson,” he began loudly.  “I went in Hoden’s place fer grub.  Some feller I never seen before come in from the hall an’ hit him an’ wrastled him on the floor.  Then this big Ranger grabbed me an’ fetched me here.  I didn’t do nothin’.  This Ranger’s hankerin’ to arrest somebody.  Thet’s my hunch, Sampson.”