more the militia colonel looked yearningly at the Gatling-gun as helpless as a firecracker in the midst of the crowd, and then imploringly to the adjutant-general, who once again smiled and shook his head.  If sinister in purpose, that mountain army was certainly well drilled and under the dominant spirit of some amazing leadership, for no sound, no gesture, no movement came from it.  And then Jason saw a pale, dark young man, the secretary of state, himself a mountain man, rise above the heads of the crowd and begin to speak.

“You are not here as revolutionists, criminals, or conspirators, because you are loyal to government and law.”

The words were big and puzzling to the untutored ears that heard them, but a grim, enigmatical smile was soon playing over many a rugged face.

“You are here under your God-given bill of rights to right your wrongs through petitions to the legislators in whose hands you placed your liberties and your laws.  And to show how non-partisan this meeting is, I nominate as chairman a distinguished Democrat and ex-Confederate soldier.”

And thereupon, before Jason’s startled eyes, rose none other than Colonel Pendleton, who silently swept the crowd with his eyes.

“I see from the faces before me that the legislators behind me shall not overturn the will of the people,” he said quietly but sonorously, and then, like an invocation to the Deity, the dark young mountaineer slowly read from the paper in his hand how they were all peaceably assembled for the common good and the good of the State to avert the peril hovering over its property, peace, safety, and happiness.  How they prayed for calmness, prudence, wisdom; begged that the legislators should not suffer themselves to be led into the temptation of partisan pride or party predilection; besought them to remember that their own just powers were loaned to them by the people at the polls, and that they must decide the people’s will and not their own political preference; implored them not to hazard the subversion of that supreme law of the land; and finally begged them to receive, and neither despise nor spurn, their earnest petition, remonstrance, but preserve and promote the safety and welfare and, above all, the honor of the commonwealth committed to their keeping.

There was no applause, no murmur even of approval—­stern faces had only grown sterner, hard eyes harder, and that was all.  Again the mountain secretary of state rose, started to speak, and stopped, looking over the upturned faces and toward the street behind them; and something in his look made every man who saw it turn his head.  A whisper started on the outer edge of the crowd and ran backward, and men began to tiptoe and crane their necks.  A tall figure was entering the iron gateway—­and that whisper ran like a wind through the mass, the whisper of a hated name.  The autocrat was coming.  The mountaineers blocked his royal way to the speaker’s