"In the old times," grinned one stoutish man, chewing tobacco and
speaking to a neighbor who held a hand cupped at his ear, "the folks
wouldn't of stood it. They'd just 'a' had a little feather party. They
rid such people out of town on a rail them days--that's what they done.
And they didn't never come back after that--never in the world. As for a
murderer--they made a eend of him!"

"And so could we make a eend of it all right now, this very night, if we
had a little sand," said another voice.

For a time all these speakers fell silent, seeking resolve, waiting for
an order, a command. But as they became silent they grew more uneasy.
They broke ground, shifted, milled about, still like cattle. Then head
was laid to head, beard wagged to beard again.

And then, all at once, it broke!

"_Come on, boys!_" cried a loud voice at last--not that of the young man
who first had spoken--not that of any of these others speakers who had
hesitated, lacking courage of definite sort. "_Come on! Who's with me?_"

The town of Spring Valley never mentioned the name of this speaker. The
report got out in a general way that he was a farmer who lived a few
miles out in the country. Indeed, sympathy for Ephraim Adamson's bad
fortune in this case was no doubt largely at the bottom of this affair
tonight--along with these other things; sympathy for Tarbush; the
sermons of the preachers; the emotional spell of the dirge music, still
lingering on these crude souls. No mob reasons. It was plain that most
of the men, though not all, were farmers. But now they all fell in
behind the leader as he started, a motley procession. Some folded
handkerchiefs and tied them about their faces. Yet others reversed their
coats, wearing them with the linings outside. Others pulled their hats
down over their eyes.

Their feet, although not keeping time, none the less caught a ragged
unison, in a sound which could have been heard at a considerable
distance. Dan Cowles heard it now, and came to the door of the county
jail. As he saw the crowd, he drew a long breath.

"They're coming here!" said he to himself at length. "I reckon they'll
try to get him. I'll hold him anyways, and they know that." Quickly he
darted back into the jail.

The procession debouched at the edge of the jail yard square, halted for
a moment, then came on steadily, because someone at their head walked
steadily. Perhaps there were seventy-five or a hundred of them in all.
Most of t