There's going to be no lynching bee, my friends!"
The women had crowded back in the room. They made a little bank of stir
and murmur around Elizabeth.
"Gentlemen," said Gainor, shaking his white hair back again in his
imposing way, "there has been no murder. The sheriff is not going to die.
There has been a disagreement between two men of honor. The sheriff is
now badly wounded. I think that is all. Does anybody want to ask
questions about what has happened?"
There was a bustle in the group of men. They were putting
away the weapons, not quite sure what they could do next.
"I am going to tell you exactly what has happened," said Gainor. "You
heard the unfortunate things that passed at the table today. What the
sheriff said was not said as an insult; but under the circumstances it
became necessary for Terence Hollis to resent what he had heard. As a man
of honor he could not do otherwise. You all agree with me in that?"
They grunted a grudging assent. There were ways and ways of looking at
such things. The way of Gainor was a generation old. But there was
something so imposing about the old fellow, something which breathed the
very spirit of honor and fair play, that they could not argue the point.
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