"Two bowers and an ace," said the stranger as quietly, showing two
revolvers and a bowie-knife.

"That takes me," returned Tennessee; and, with this gambler's epigram,
he threw away his useless pistol and rode back with his captor.

It was a warm night. The cool breeze which usually sprang up with the
going down of the sun behind the chaparral-crested mountain was that
evening withheld from Sandy Bar. The little canon was stifling with
heated resinous odors, and the decaying driftwood on the Bar sent
forth faint sickening exhalations. The feverishness of day and its
fierce passions still filled the camp. Lights moved restlessly along
the bank of the river, striking no answering reflection from its tawny
current. Against the blackness of the pines the windows of the old
loft above the express-office stood out staringly bright; and through
their curtainless panes the loungers below could see the forms of
those who were even then deciding the fate of Tennessee. And above all
this, etched on the dark firmament, rose the Sierra, remote and
passionless, crowned with remoter passionless stars.

The trial of Tennessee was conducted as fairly as was consistent with
a judge and jury who felt themselves to some extent obliged to
justify, in their verdict, the previous irregularities of arrest and
indictment. The law of Sandy Bar was implacable, but not vengeful. The
excitement and personal feeling of the chase were over; with Tennessee
safe in their hands, they were ready to listen patiently to any
defense, which they were already satisfied was insufficient. There
being no doubt in their own minds, they were willing to give the
prisoner the benefit of any that might exist. Secure in the hypothesis
that he ought to be hanged on general principles, they indulged him