He paused. He had been heard with a rapt attention, but he knew that the difficult part of his speech lay yet ahead, and, as he wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, the voice of young Jake Falerin flung challengingly up at him the first interruption. "We can't be friends with Black Pete Spooner a-stirrin' up strife in these mountings." And after that came cries of "Where is Black Pete?" and "Tell us about the Deacon!" "Black Pete Spooner is in the mountains, and he is here in town," replied the orator quietly, though he found it difficult to make so portentous an announcement calmly. "But he declares he is here in the interests of peace, and is willing to let you, not only Spooners, but Spooners and Falkinses alike, judge whether or not he can stay. If you decide against him he is ready to go. He asks only that you hear him out, and I ask only that every man of you give me his hand on it, that until he has spoken no one will attack him. I have never had dealings with the Deacon. I have never trusted him, but now I ask you as a personal favor to hear him; holding your hands and paroling him in the interval to my care and in my custody." There was no immediate response. A moody silence settled over the Falkins men, as though the favorite patriarch had asked too much, but McAllister Falkins turned questioningly to Job and Jim Falerin and Mark McDonald, standing at his side. These three ambassadors looked out over the sea of upturned faces with the scrutiny of weather-prophets studying the clouds. After that, for a moment they whispered together, and at last Job, as the senior, stepped forward and declared in a clear voice: "The Falkins boys is willin' ter hear what the Deacon's got ter say. They're willin' to give their hands thet if they thinks he's a-lyin', as he gene'lly is, they'll hold him safe twell the train leaves fer Winchester termorrow mornin'--provided the Spooners keep faith." "That's all I ask," assented McAllister Falkins, and he held out his hand. Slowly and solemnly, in the order of their ages, Job, Jim and Mark shook it, pledging their kinsmen. The whole proceeding, so medieval and rude, yet so characteristic, struck young Henry Falkins with a grip of the dramatic. But that moment of drama was to be followed by another and tenser one, for the elderly speaker turned toward the court-house door at his back, and raised his hand; and in response to the signal the tall and dignified figure of the Deacon appeared for a moment framed there, and came forward to take his place at the side of his sponsor. They knew he was coming, were expecting him; had agreed to hear him speak, and yet, when they actually saw him, it was with something like a shock to the Falkins element, so that, despite the bondage of their pledge, a low chorused growl ran from throat to throat. Many of their younger clansmen had never seen this man of whom such black tales were told. None of the older men had seen him in recent years.