“Bill Washburn’s in thar,” said a man in the edge of the crowd.  “I seed ’im run in as we rid up.”

The leader, who sat on a restive horse near Westerfelt, called out: 

“Hello in thar, Bill Washburn; git out some’n to put yore man on.  Hurry up, ur we’ll take you along to see the fun.”

Washburn opened the office door and came out slowly.

“What do you say, Mr. Westerfelt?  It’s yore property.  I won’t move a peg agin the man that I work fer ef eve’y dam Whitecap in Christendom orders it.”

“Care_ful_, care_ful_, young man; none o’ your lip!” said the leader, half admiringly.

“Give ’em the lot!” It was the first time Westerfelt had spoken.

Washburn made no reply, but went slowly back into the stable.

Westerfelt’s dying horse raised his head and groaned.  A man near the animal dismounted and drew his revolver.

“What d’ you say?” said he to Westerfelt.  “Hadn’t I better put ’im out o’ his misery?”

“I’d be much obliged if you would.”  Westerfelt turned his face away.  There was a moment’s pause.  The man waited for the horse’s head to become still.  Then he fired.

“Thanks,” said Westerfelt.  He looked round at the crowd, wondering which of the men could be Toot Wambush.  He had an idea that he had not yet spoken, and was not among those nearest to him.  Through the open door he could see Washburn’s lantern moving about in the stable.

“Hurry up in thar,” cried a tall figure.  “Do you think we’re gwine to—­” He began to cough.

“How do you like to chaw cotton, Number Six?” a man near him asked.

“The blamed lint gits down my throat,” was the reply.  “I’d ruther be knowed by my voice’n to choke to death on sech truck.”

From far and near on all sides came the dismal barking of dogs, but the villagers, if they suspected what was being enacted, dared not show their faces.  Washburn led a horse through the crowd and gave the bridle to Westerfelt.  He hesitated, as if about to speak, and then silently withdrew.  Westerfelt mounted.  The leader gave the order, and the gang moved back towards the mountain.  Two horsemen went before Westerfelt and two fell behind.  As they passed the shop, dimly he saw the form of a woman lying on the ground just out of the moonlight that fell in at the door.  Harriet had swooned.  When they had gone past the shop, Westerfelt reined in his horse and called over his shoulder to Washburn, who stood in front of the stable.  He would not leave her lying there if he could help it, and yet he did not want Wambush to know she had warned him.  The gang stopped, and Washburn came to them.

“Any directions you want to give?” he asked of Westerfelt.

“I saw you looking for the account-book,” answered Westerfelt, staring significantly into his eyes.  “I was in the blacksmith’s shop to-day and left it on the forge.”