They swayed their bodies from side to side--not forward but from side to side. They fingered their weapons, and some of them swore in a disappointed, irritated sort of way. This lasted perhaps half a minute, perhaps a whole minute--anyway it lasted for some such measurable period of time--before the crumbling crust of their resolution was broken through. The break came from the front and the center. Their leader, the lank, tall man with the down-tilted nose, was the first to give ground visibly. He turned about and without a word he began pushing a passage for himself through the scrouging pack of them. Breathing hard, like men who had run a hard race, they followed him, going away with scarcely a backward glance toward the man who--alone--had daunted them. They followed after their leader as mules follow after a bell-mare, wiping their grimy shirtsleeves across their sweaty, grimier faces and glancing toward each other with puzzled, questioning looks. One of them left a heavy can of coal-oil behind him upright in the middle of the road. The old judge stood still until they were a hundred yards away. He uncocked the revolver and put the deadly thing back in his pocket. Mechanically he raised his umbrella, fumbling a little with the stubborn catch, and tilted it over his left shoulder; his turtlelike shadow sprang out again, but this time it was in front of him. Very slowly, like a man who was dead tired, he made his way back up the gravel path toward the courthouse. Jeff magically materialized himself out of nowhere, but of Dink Bynum there was no sign. “Is them w'ite gen'l'men gone?” inquired Jeff, his eyes popping with the aftershock of what he had just witnessed--had witnessed from under the courthouse steps. “Yes,” said the judge wearily, his shoulders drooping. “They're gone.” “Jedge, ain't they liable to come back?” “No; they won't come back.” “You kinder skeered 'em off, jedge!” An increasing admiration for his master percolated sweetly through Jeff's remarks like dripping honey. “No; I didn't scare 'em off exactly,” answered the judge. “They are not the kind of men who can be scared off. I merely invoked the individual equation, if you know what that means?” “Yas, suh--that's whut I thought it wuz,” assented Jeff eagerly--the more eagerly because he had no idea what the judge meant. “Jeff,” the old man said, “help me into my office and get me a dipper of drinkin' water. I reckin maybe I've got a tech of the sun.” He tottered a little and groped outward with one hand. Guided to the room, he sank inertly into his chair and feebly fought off the blackness that kept blanking his sight. Jeff fanned him with his hat. “I guess maybe this here campaignin' has been too much for me,” said the judge slowly. “It must be the weather. I reckin from now on, Jeff, I'll have to set back sort of easy and let these young fellows run things.”