Farnham at once mounted his horse.  “I would take it as a great favor,” he said, “if you would give me your name and that of the gentleman with the pistol.  Where is he, by the way?” he continued.  The man they called Bowersox had disappeared from the group around the spokesman.  Farnham turned and saw him a little distance away directly behind him.  He had repossessed himself of his pistol and held it cocked in his hand.

“What do you want of our names?” the spokesman asked.

Farnham did not again lose sight of Bowersox.  It occurred to him that the interview might as well be closed.  He therefore said, carelessly, without turning: 

“A man has a natural curiosity to know the names of new acquaintances.  But no matter, I suppose the police know you,” and rode away.

Bowersox turned to Offitt and said, “Why in ——­ did you let him go?  I could have knocked his head off and nobody knowed it.”

“Yes,” said Offitt, coolly.  “And got hung for it.”

“It would have been self-defence,” said Bowersox.  “He hit me first.”

“Well, gentlemen,” said Offitt, “that closes up Greenwood Lodge.  We can’t meet in this grass any more.  I don’t suppose he knows any of us by sight, or he’d have us up to-morrow.”

“It was a piece of ——­ nonsense, comin’ out here, anyhow,” growled Bowersox, unwilling to be placated.  “You haven’t done a ——­ thing but lay around on the grass and eat peanuts and hear Bott chin.”

“Brother Bott has delivered a splendid address on ’The Religion of Nature,’ and he couldn’t have had a better hall than the Canopy to give it under,” said Offitt.  “And now, gentlemen, we’d better get back our own way.”

As Farnham rode home he was not much puzzled by his adventure in the woods.  He remembered having belonged, when he was a child of ten, to a weird and mysterious confraternity called “Early Druids,” which met in the depths of groves, with ill-defined purposes, and devoted the hours of meeting principally to the consumption of confectionery.  He had heard for the past few months of the existence of secret organizations of working-men—­wholly outside of the trades-unions and unconnected with them—­and guessed at once that he had disturbed a lodge of one of these clubs.  His resentment did not last very long at the treatment to which he had been subjected; but still he thought it was not a matter of jest to have the roads obstructed by ruffians with theories in their heads and revolvers in their hands, neither of which they knew how to use.  He therefore promised himself to consult with the chief of police the next morning in regard to the matter.