They were coming.

She stepped quickly out of the tangle, and darted up the road, running

with the speed of a fleet little terrier, not opening her lips, not

calling out, but holding her two thin hands high above her head. That was

all. But Birnam wood was come to Dunsinane at last, and the messenger

sped. Out of the weeds in the corners of the snake fence, in the upper

part of the rise, silently lifted the heads of men whose sallowness became

a sickish white as the child flew by.

The mob was carefully organized. They had taken their time and had

prepared everything deliberately, knowing that nothing could stop them. No

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one had any thought of concealment; it was all as open as the light of

day, all done in the broad sunshine. Nothing had been determined as to

what was to be done at the Cross-Roads more definite than that the place

was to be wiped out. That was comprehensive enough; the details were quite

certain to occur. They were all on foot, marching in fairly regular ranks.

In front walked Mr. Watts, the man Harkless had abhorred in a public

spirit and befriended in private--to-day he was a hero and a leader,

marching to avenge his professional oppressor and personal brother. Cool,

unruffled, and, to outward vision, unarmed, marching the miles in his

brown frock coat and generous linen, his carefully creased trousers neatly

turned up out of the dust, he led the way. On one side of him were the two

Bowlders, on the other was Lige Willetts, Mr. Watts preserving peace

between the two young men with perfect tact and sang-froid.

They kept good order and a similitude of quiet for so many, except far to

the rear, where old Wilkerson was bringing up the tail of the procession,

dragging a wretched yellow dog by a slip-noose fastened around the poor

cur's protesting neck, the knot carefully arranged under his right ear. In

spite of every command and protest, Wilkerson had marched the whole way

uproariously singing, "John Brown's Body."

The sun was in the west when they came in sight of the Cross-Roads, and

the cabins on the low slope stood out angularly against the radiance

beyond. As they beheld the hated settlement, the heretofore orderly ranks

showed a disposition to depart from the steady advance and rush the

shanties. Willetts, the Bowlders, Parker, Ross, Schofield, and fifty

others did, in fact, break away and set a sharp pace up the slope.

Watts tried to call them back. "What's the use your gettin' killed?" he

shouted.

"Why not?" answered Lige, who, like the others, was increasing his speed

when old "Wimby" rose up suddenly from the roadside ahead of them, and

motioned them frantically to go back. "They're laid out along the fence,

waitin' fer ye," he warned them. "Git out the road. Come by the fields.

Per the Lord's sake, spread!" Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he

dropped down into the weeds again. Lige and those with him paused, and the

whole body came to a halt while the leaders consulted. There was a sound

of metallic clicking and a thin rattle of steel. From far to the rear came

the voice of old Wilkerson: "John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the ground,

John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the ground--"




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