“Captain Sopris was a People’s Judge in Denver, and he hanged a heap of men there, too, time of the Pike’s Peak boom,” said an old-timer near me. “The captain knows the ropes.” There was a grim double meaning in the way he said “ropes.” Captain Sopris mounted the waggon box in his turn and took his seat, throwing a keen eye over the crowd. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I have been elected to try this case by you, the people. Is it your will that I should select a jury? Those who are in favour say ‘Aye!’” Once more the full-throated chorus of “Ayes!” arose from the crowd. “Contrary, ‘No,’” said the Judge to the crowd in matter-of-fact tones, turning at the same time to speak to a man beside him. It was his art, I think, to appear to take it all as mere matter of course, yet I am certain he and his supporters were sharply on the watch for any sign of opposition from the prisoner’s friends. But the “people” had got a leader now, and any who would have liked to interfere were cowed by the almost unanimous ‘Aye!’ of the majority. When the judge said “Contrary, ‘No!’” there may have been a murmur here and there, but no man durst answer “No,” square and bold. The people were rousing to their work. We were all packed tight round the court, for that farm waggon and the nail keg seats had become the Court of the People out there on the prairie under the open sky. I had dismounted and wedged myself in next the seats where my neighbour said the jury would be. Quickly a dozen jurors were chosen and took their places. A Bible was produced, and every juror was sworn to give an honest verdict. Each man as soon as he was sworn took his seat, on one or other of the impromptu benches, till there were six on one side and six on the other. “And now,” said the judge, “bring in the prisoner.” Accordingly the guards, with the prisoner in their midst, moved up to the open side of the court; but as they did so it was seen that something had occurred, for beside the prisoner stood little Pat Egan, who was believed to represent the majesty of the law in some sort of capacity or other. “Captain Sopris,” he began in somewhat plaintive accents, “this hyar thing ain’ regular at all. By rights this hyar man’s my prisoner, and I can’t consent to no proceedings of this sort.” The judge took no more notice of him than if he had been a piece of wood; less, indeed, for he did not appear to see him. “But,” continued the little Irishman, “I’m a county officer, I am, and I’m liable to be called in question for this business. And I can’t give up this man,” he went on piteously, “without some excuse, ye know I can’t.” The audience smiled audibly, but the judge, the jury and guards never looked at him, never heard him, never knew he was there, so to speak, but went on with their own business, arranging the order in which the witnesses should be called.