Pat Egan continued his pitiful demands for an excuse. The crowd was jammed thick round the court, the foremost men leaning over the backs of the jury on both sides. Eager to catch every word, I had tied my horse to a post in the street and had squeezed myself in up to the very seat where the jury sat, so that I was within a couple of yards of Mr. Egan and the prisoner. Leaning on me was a great yellow-bearded giant in a slouch hat. He reached down to his hip and produced an enormous revolver, one of the old dragoon Colt’s, with a barrel about a foot long. Bearing on my shoulder with his left hand, he extended his long right arm over the heads of the jury till the pistol-muzzle was within a few inches of Pat’s head. Pat, with his face to the judge’s bench, was still volubly explaining that he was a county officer and couldn’t consent. “Mr. Egan,” breathed the giant with the big pistol, in the softest tones. Mr. Egan was absorbed in his own ardent utterances, and didn’t hear. “Mr. Egan,” a little louder. Pat turned round sharp and looked into the muzzle of the formidable weapon. “Mr. Egan, will that do ye for an excuse?” said the giant with an air of gentle sarcasm. Mr. Egan recoiled several feet with an air of comic alarm. “Oh, certainly, sir,” he responded with alacrity. “Certainly, certainly, quite sufficient; that will do.” And he, the sole representative of the lawful Government of Colorado, disappeared promptly and finally from the scene. And now the serious business of the court began. “Is there a lawyer in town?” asked the judge. “If so, fetch him. The prisoner can have a counsel.” There was a Mr. Tallboys, a lawyer, a very young one, who came. The people of this mushroom town had arrived with a rush from everywhere, and every profession was represented. “Understand,” said Sopris, leaning over from the waggon to the counsel for the accused, “this is a People’s Court. Any arguments you can use for your client will get a fair hearing. But you are not to object to the competence of the court. If you try to do so, I am deaf.” The lawyer, looking very uncomfortable, murmured some indistinct answer. He was in an extremely irregular and unpleasant position. But he saw that he must either accept it or go. He elected to stay. As counsel for the prisoner, he stood beside him in the centre of the court. “I shall now call on the prosecution to bring forward their witnesses,” said Captain Sopris. “We will hear their story first, and you, prisoner, can cross-examine them either by yourself or by your lawyer.” The first witness came forward and, after having been sworn on the Book to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, began: