n
his lifelong sorrow he would need her sympathy and companionship; for
she had loved the child and would share his grief. She knew the people
better than he, and was in closer touch with them; she could help him
in his schemes of benevolence, and suggest new ways to benefit the
people. Phil's mother was buried far away, among her own people; could
he consult her, he felt sure she would prefer to remain there. Here
she would be an alien note; and when Laura died she could lie with
them and still be in her own place.

"Have you heard the news, sir," asked the housekeeper, when he came
down to breakfast the next morning.

"No, Mrs. Hughes, what is it?"

"They lynched the Negro who was in jail for shooting young Mr. Fetters
and the other man."

The colonel hastily swallowed a cup of coffee and went down town. It
was only a short walk. Already there were excited crowds upon the
street, discussing the events of the night. The colonel sought Caxton,
who was just entering his office.

"They've done it," said the lawyer.

"So I understand. When did it happen?"

"About one o'clock last night. A crowd came in from Sycamore--not all
at once, but by twos and threes, and got together in Clay Johnson's
saloon, with Ben Green, your discharged foreman, and a lot of other
riffraff, and went to the sheriff, and took the keys, and took Johnson
and carried him out to where the shooting was, and----"

"Spare me the details. He is dead?"

"Yes."

A rope, a tree--a puff of smoke, a flash of flame--or a barbaric orgy
of fire and blood--what matter which? At the end there was a lump of
clay, and a hundred murderers where there had been one before.

"Can we do anything to punish _this_ crime?"

"We can try."

And they tried. The colonel went to the sheriff. The sheriff said he
had yielded to force, but he never would have dreamed of shooting to
defend a worthless Negro who had maimed a good white man, had nearly
killed another, and had declared a vendetta against the white race.

By noon the colonel had interviewed as many prominent men as he could
find, and they became increasingly difficult to find as it became
known that he was seeking them. The town, he said, had been disgraced,
and should redeem itself by prosecuting the lynchers. He may as well
have talked to the empty air. The trail of Fetters was all over the
town. Some of the officials owed Fetters money; others were under
political obligations to him. Others were pla