The first man I saw was Steele looming up; the next was Sampson chewing
his mustache--the third, Wright, whose dark and sinister face told much.
Something was up in Linrock. Steele had opened the hall.

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