rself to go back
into a reconsideration of the problem. She could not shake off the
legacy of her race, the law that was of her blood and that had been
trained into her. She knew that whatever she did she must do according
to the law, and in the long hours of watching, the shot-gun on her knees,
the murderer restless beside her and the storms thundering without, she
made original sociological researches and worked out for herself the
evolution of the law. It came to her that the law was nothing more than
the judgment and the will of any group of people. It mattered not how
large was the group of people. There were little groups, she reasoned,
like Switzerland, and there were big groups like the United States. Also,
she reasoned, it did not matter how small was the group of people. There
might be only ten thousand people in a country, yet their collective
judgment and will would be the law of that country. Why, then, could not
one thousand people constitute such a group? she asked herself. And if
one thousand, why not one hundred? Why not fifty? Why not five? Why
not--two?

She was frightened at her own conclusion, and she talked it over with
Hans. At first he could not comprehend, and then, when he did, he added
convincing evidence. He spoke of miners' meetings, where all the men of
a locality came together and made the law and executed the law. There
might be only ten or fifteen men altogether, he said, but the will of the
majority became the law for the whole ten or fifteen, and whoever
violated that will was punished.

Edith saw her way clear at last. Dennin must hang. Hans agreed with
her. Between them they constituted the majority of this particular
group. It was the group-will that Dennin should be hanged. In the
execution of this will Edith strove earnestly to observe the customary
forms, but the group was so small that Hans and she had to serve as
witnesses, as jury, and as judges--also as executioners. She formally
charged Michael Dennin with the murder of Dutchy and Harkey, and the
prisoner lay in his bunk and listened to the testimony, first of Hans,
and then of Edith. He refused to plead guilty or not guilty, and
remained silent when she asked him if he had anything to say in his own
defence. She and Hans, without leaving their seats, brought in the
jury's verdict of guilty. Then, as judge, she imposed the sentence. Her
voice shook, her eyelids twitched, her left arm jerked, but she