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:
'Do not insult justice, by bringing the prisoner into court in this
condition. Let his face be washed, his garments changed, and his wounds
bound up, before he appears for trial. Dr. Rawson, I commission you
special officer for the duty.'
'I'm at your service, Major Gaston,' said the doctor, stepping out from
the crowd into the open semicircle in front of the bench. 'Will some one
procure the loan of a coat, hat, and trousers at the mansion?'
Ally started for the needed clothing, and the physician led the way to
the small lake. In about twenty minutes the volunteer officials returned
with the criminal, clothed in a more respectable manner, and Gaston said
to him.
'Prisoner, take your place.'
Resistance was useless, and Mulock, with a slow step, and a sullen,
dogged air, ascended the platform, and seated himself in the chair
provided for him at its further extremity.
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