“They will get justice here, for we will try them by the law of right. Now let us go and arrange for the trial.” “Need I appear in the matter, sir?” “Well, as I am judge, I’ll ask you to take a seat with me on the bench.” “You are very kind, sir; but I am only a witness.” “Well, you will have to face the prisoners and the crowd, so take a seat with me on the ‘bench.’” The “judge” evidently felt the importance of his position, and, as he left the supper-room, lighted his pipe, and took up his position upon the piazza, where seats had already been placed for him and the prisoners. The _bench_ was one in reality, and Buffalo Bill sat down next to the judge, while the prisoners were placed in front of them. The crowd had now increased to several hundred men, yet they were not noisy, and their silence was more expressive than their shouting would have been. The prisoners were white with fear, for they sat where the light of a number of lanterns fell full upon them. They cast uneasy glances at the judge, baleful ones at Buffalo Bill, and pleading ones over the crowd, where they looked in vain for some sympathetic face. The Vigilante captain called the meeting to order by rapping with his bowie-knife upon the bench. It was as effective, however, as a golden gavel in Congress would have been. Instantly there was a death-like silence. “Gentlemen,” began the Vigilante captain, after clearing his throat, “you have honored me by making me captain of the Vigilantes of Yellow Dust Valley, and also have bestowed upon me the more honored title of Judge of the Criminal Court of Pocket City. “There are many of us present who remember that Yellow Dust Valley was a very dangerous place of abode before the Vigilantes were organized, for lawlessness and disorder reigned supreme. But since they began to hunt down criminals and this court to sentence them for their crimes, see the change. Why, there has not been a murder in Pocket City for thirty-six hours. “A short while since this gentleman occupying a seat upon the bench with me, was ambushed by a gang of desperadoes, and would have been hanged but for the intervention of our honored fellow citizen, Deadshot Dean, now absent, who killed the ringleader and saved a valuable life. “Two of that gang are now arraigned before you as prisoners, charged with another offense against law and order. This gentleman, my fellow citizens, I desire to introduce to you as a man whose name has spread from pole to pole, from the rising to the setting sun, as you will know when I tell you that he is Buffalo Bill.” A wild roar like thunder answered the words of the judge, and Buffalo Bill arose and bowed to the compliment bestowed upon him. “Now, gentlemen,” resumed the judge, “let me tell you that on his way to Pocket City this evening Buffalo Bill saw a sight which I am going to ask him to relate to you.” Thus urged, the scout arose and simply told his story as it is known to the reader. Then the judge resumed: