There was a little murmur, for of all the cattle-barons Clavering was the only man who had as yet earned his adversaries' individual dislike. They were prepared to pull down the others because their interests, which they had little difficulty in fancying coincided with those of their country, demanded it; but Clavering, with his graceful insolence, ironical contempt of them, and thinly-veiled pride, was a type of all their democracy anathematized. More than one of them had winced under his soft laugh and lightly spoken jibes, which rankled more than a downright injury. "The question is what we're going to do with him," said a third speaker. Again the low voices murmured, until a man stood up. "There's one cure for his complaint, and that's a sure one, but I'm not going to urge it now," he said. "Boys, we don't want to be the first to take up the rifle, and it would make our intentions quite as plain if we dressed him in a coat of tar and rode him round the town. Nobody would have any use for him after that, and it would be a bigger slap in Clavering's face than anything else we could do to him." Some of the men appeared relieved, for it was evident they had no great liking for the sterner alternative; and there was acclamation until Grant rose quietly at the head of the table. "I've got to move a negative," he said. "It would be better if you handed him to the Sheriff." There was astonishment in most of the faces, and somebody said, "The Sheriff! He'd let him go right off. The cattle-men have got the screw on him." "Well," said Larry quietly, "he has done his duty so far, and may do it again. I figure we ought to give him the chance." Exclamations of dissent followed, and a man with a grim, lean face stood up. He spoke tolerable English, but his accent differed from that of the rest. "The first man put it straight when he told you there was only one cure--the one they found out in France a hundred years ago," he said. "You don't quite realize it yet. You haven't lived as we did back there across the sea, and seen your women thrust off the pavement into the gutter to make room for an officer, or been struck with the sword-hilt if you resented an insult before your fellow citizens. Will you take off your hats to the rich men who are trampling on you, you republicans, and, while they leave you the right of speech, beg them to respect your rights and liberties? Do that, and sit still a little, and they'll fasten the yoke we've groaned under on your necks." "I don't know that it isn't eloquent, but it isn't business," said somebody.