The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. I have taken bullets and lived, and even a silver one wouldn’t do much. Instead had come this storm, this shouting, this weeping, this confusion of threats and irrelevant appeals. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. Still no sound. CHAPTER XVI. I’ll get in trouble. Ladies with weapon’s on ’em.
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