Cavendish—­Yancy—­Carrington—­I call upon you to arrest John Murrell!  I do this by virtue of the authority vested in me as a judge of the United States Federal Court.  His crime—­a mere trifle, my friends—­passing counterfeit money!  Colonel Fentress will inform you that this is a violation of the law which falls within my jurisdiction,” and he beamed blandly on Fentress.

“It’s a lie!” cried the colonel.

“You’ll answer for that later!” said the judge, with abrupt austerity of tone.

“For all we know you may be some fugitive from justice!  Why, your name isn’t Price!”

“Are you sure of that?” asked the judge quickly.

“You’re an impostor!  Your name is Turberville!”

“Permit me to relieve your apprehensions.  It is Turberville who has received the appointment.  Would you like to examine my credentials?—­I have them by me—­no?  I am obliged for your introduction.  It could not have come at a more timely moment!” The judge seemed to dismiss Fentress contemptuously.  Once more he faced the packed benches.  “Put down your weapons!” he commanded.  “This man Murrell will not be released.  At the first effort at rescue he will be shot where he sits—­we have sworn it —­his plotting is at an end.”  He stalked nearer the benches.  “Not one chance in a thousand remains to him.  Either he dies here or he lives to betaken before every judge in the state, if necessary, until we find one with courage to try him!  Make no mistake—­it will best conserve the ends of justice to allow the state court’s jurisdiction in this case; and I pledge myself to furnish evidence which will start him well on his road to the gallows!” The judge, a tremendous presence, stalked still nearer the benches.  Outfacing the crowd, a sense of the splendor of the part he was being called upon to play flowed through him like some elixir; he felt that he was transcending himself, that his inspiration was drawn from the hidden springs of the spirit, and that he could neither falter nor go astray.  “You don’t know what you are meddling with!  This man has plotted to lay the South in ruins—­he has been arming the negroes—­it—­it is incredible that you should all know this—­to such I say, go home and thank God for your escape!  For the others”—­his shaggy brows met in a menacing frown—­“if they force our hand we will toss them John Murrell’s dead carcass—­that’s our answer to their challenge!”

He strode out among the gun muzzles which wavered where they still covered him.  He was thinking of Mahaffy—­Mahaffy, who had said he was still a man to be reckoned with.  For the comfort of his own soul he was proving it.

“Do you know what a servile insurrection means?—­you men who have wives and daughters, have you thought of their fate?  Of the monstrous savagery to which they would be exposed?  Do you believe he could limit and control it?  Look at him!  Why, he has never had a consideration outside of his own safety, and yet he expects you to risk your necks to save his!  He would have left the state before the first blow was struck—­his business was all down river—­but we are going to keep him here to answer for his crimes!  The law, as implacable as it is impartial, has put its mark on him—­the shadow in which he sits is the shadow of the gallows!”