Part 47 (1/2)

”Thar's been treason amongst us,” announced Rick Joyce, sharply, and every man seemed to find that wrathful glance resting accusingly upon himself. ”Thar's been treason that's got ter be paid in full an' with int'rest hereatter. Thet thing thet tuck place last night was mighty d.a.m.nable an' erginst all orders. Ther fellers thet did hit affronted this hyar army of riders thet they stood sworn ter obey.”

Whether among those followers gathered about him there were any who had partic.i.p.ated in last night's murder Rick Joyce did not know, but he knew that a minority had run to a violence which had been neither ordered nor countenanced. They had gotten out of hand, wreaked a premature vengeance, and precipitated the need of action before the majority was ready. But it was now too late to waste time in lamentation. The thing was done, and the organization saddled with that guilt must strike or be struck down.

The Ku Klux had meant to move at its own appointed time, with the irresistible sweep and force of an avalanche. Before the designated season a lighter snowslide had broken away and the avalanche had no choice but to follow.

To-morrow every aroused impulse of law and order would be battle-girt and the secret body would be on the defensive--perhaps even on the run.

If it were to hold the offensive it must strike and terrorize before another day had dawned--and that was not as it had planned its course.

”Hit's too late now ter cry over spilt milk,” declared Joyce with a burr in his voice. ”Later on we'll handle our own traitors--right now thar's another task thet won't suffer no delay.”

He paused, scowling, then enlightened his hearers briefly:

”We warn't ready ter finish up this matter yit but now we hain't got no choice. Hit's ternight or never. We stands disgusted by all mankind, an'

in sheer self-defence we've got ter terrify mankind so they won't dast utter what disgust they feels. Old Jim's nigh ter death an' we don't need ter bother with him; Hump Doane kin wait--one blow's done fell on him already--but thar's yit another man thet won't never cease ter dog us whilst he lives, an' thet's Parish Thornton--so ternight we aims ter hang him.”

Once more there was a pause, then as though pointing his moral the spokesman supplemented his remarks:

”Hit hes need ter be a thing,” he said, solemnly, ”thet's goin' ter terrify this whole country in sich dire fas.h.i.+on thet fer twenty y'ars ter come no grand juror won't dast vote fer no investigation.”

There remained those exact details that should cause the elaborate operation to function together without hitch or miscarriage, and to these Rick Joyce addressed himself.

The mob was to partic.i.p.ate in force of full numbers and no absentees were to be tolerated.

”When ther game starts up hit's got ter go quick as a bat flyin' through h.e.l.l,” enjoined the director. ”Every man teks his slicker an' his false-face, an' goes one by one ter ther woods eround Thornton's house es soon es dusk sottles. Every man's got ter be nigh enough afore sun-down ter make sh.o.r.e of gettin' thar on time. Then they all draws in, holdin' ter ther thickets. Ther signal will be ther callin' of whippoorwills--a double call with a count of five betwixt 'em. When we're all drawed up eround ther house, so no way hain't left open thet a rabbit could break through, I'll sing out--an' when I does thet ye all closes in on ther run. Thar's a big walnuck tree right by ther door ter hang him on--an' termorrer mornin' folks'll hev a lesson thet they kin kinderly take ter heart.”

On his way back from Hump Doane's house that morning Parish Thornton made a detour for a brief visit upon Jase Burrell, the man to whose discretion he had entrusted the keeping of Bas Rowlett's sealed confession. From the hands of that faithful custodian he took the envelope and thrust it into his breast pocket. Now that his own pledge of suspended vengeance had been exonerated he would no longer need that bond of amnesty. Moreover, he knew now that this compact had been a rope of sand to Bas Rowlett from the beginning, and would never be anything else. It only served to divert the plotter's activities and treacheries into subtler channels--and when the sun set to-day there would be either no Bas Rowlett to bind or no Parish Thornton to seek to bind him.

Then he rode home.

Thornton entered his own house silently, but with the face of an avenging spirit, and it was a face that told his story.

The rigid pose and the set jaw, the irreconcilable light in the eyes, were all things that Dorothy understood at once and without explanation.

As she looked at her husband she thought, somehow, of a falcon or eagle poised on a bare tree-top at a precipice edge. There was the same alert restiveness as might have marked a bird of prey, gauging the blue sky-reaches with predatory eye, and ready to strike with a winged bolt of death.

Quietly, because the baby had just fallen asleep, she rose and laid the child on the bright patterned coverlet of the fourposter, and she paused, too, to brace herself with a glance into the cool shadows and golden lights of the ample branches beyond the window.

Then she came back to the door and her voice was steady but low as she said, ”Ye've done found out who did hit. I kin read thet in yore eyes, Ken.”

He nodded, but until he had crossed the room and laid a hand on each of her shoulders, he did not speak.

”Since ther fust day I ever seed ye, honey,” he declared with a sort of hushed fervour, ”standin' up thar in ther winder, my heart hain't nuver struck a beat save ter love ye--an' thet war jest erbout a y'ar ago.”

”Hit's been all my life, Ken,” she protested. ”Ther time thet went ahead of thet didn't skeercely count atall.”

Her voice trembled, and the meeting of their gaze was a caress. Then he said: ”When I wedded with ye out thar--under thet old tree--with ther sun s.h.i.+nin' down on us--I swore ter protect ye erginst all harm.”

”Hain't ye always done thet, Ken?”