“Yes, I saw him sitting in this tent’s door reading this afternoon,” whispered a third.

“We must get the rope on him and make away with him before the camp is aroused,” someone said.

“What shall I do?” thought the pious man.  “Does it mean that I must suffer death at the hands of this mob, simply because I have preached the truth?  Will they hang me?  Will they choke me?  Will they stone me?  Will they drag me over these awful rocks until life is dashed out?  What meant the gleam in Bonds’ eyes last night in the service?  What will become of my dear wife and boy in Ohio?  Will I recant?  Will I deny my Lord?  Will I shun to declare the whole counsel of God?” All these questions and many others flashed across the Evangelist’s mind like angry streaks of lightning across a black cloud.

Through the thin canvas he saw in the moonlight half a dozen husky men seize hold of one end of a rope, the other end of which was arranged in a slip-loop.

“Now when I get the rope on him, make for the hills,” said one man as he began to untie the strings that held the door of the tent.  Just at this instant Evangelist Blank slipped under the edge of the tent on the opposite side from where the men were planning their diabolical feat, and under the edge of Jake Benton’s tent, which stood just about two feet from his own.  With a quickness of mind that was almost miraculous, he donned a dress and shawl and bonnet belonging to Sister Benton, and stole out of the tent and across the ground toward the arbor in full view of the enraged men as they came out of the tent that he had just vacated.

The men were as much astonished as enraged at not finding their prey.  They ransacked Jake Benton’s tent and demanded that he reveal the whereabouts of the preacher.  Jake flatly refused.  Except for his trembling, he stood like a stone wall and faced that score of masked men, thirsty for righteous blood.  Really they appeared as so many thoroughbred devils right from the pit.  They were masked in a way, not only to conceal their identity, but in a way to make them appear as hideous as possible.  The leader of the mob shouted, “Jake Benton, you sanctified hypocrite, if you don’t tell us where that preacher is we’ll hang your carcass up for the crows to pick.”

“Maybe you will, but I’ll hang there, before I’ll tell,” shouted poor Jake in a trembling voice.

“Who was that ole lady left your tent and went across the ground a while ago with a bonnet on?” shouted one of the mob.

“I never saw an ole lady going across the ground,” replied Jake. (In this he was telling the truth, you know.)

“Hang him up to a tree boys, hang him up, if he won’t tell,” shouted one of the gang.  “Bring the rope,” shouted another as he took hold of Benton’s arms.