“That needn't keep you fellows out,” he said, with his whimsical smile. “But the rank and file will have to constitute the big end. We don't want a lot of busybodies, pussy-footing around with guns and looking for trouble. We had enough of that during the war. We would want some men who would answer a riot call if they were needed. That's all.” He had some of the translations Hendricks had brought him in his pocket, and they circulated around the group. “Do you think they mean to attack the city?” “That looks like it, doesn't it? And they are getting that sort of stuff all the time. There are a hundred thousand of them in this end of the state.” “Would you make it a secret organization?” “Yes. I like doing things in the open myself, but you've got to fight a rat in his hole, if he won't come out.” “Would you hold office?” Pink asked. Willy Cameron smiled. “I'm a good bit like the boy who dug post holes in the daytime and took in washing at night to support the family. But I'll work, if that's what you mean.” “We'd better have a constitution and all that, don't you think?” Pink asked. “We can draw up a tentative one, and then fix it up at the first meeting. This is going to be a big thing. It'll go like a fire.” But Willy Cameron overruled that. “We don't need that sort of stuff,” he said, “and if we begin that we might as well put it in the newspapers. We want men who can keep their mouths shut, and who will sign some sort of a card agreeing to stand by the government and to preserve law and order. Then an office and a filing case, and their addresses, so we can get at them in a hurry if we need them. Get me a piece of paper, somebody.” Then and there, in twenty words, Willy Cameron wrote the now historic oath of the new Vigilance Committee, on the back of an old envelope. It was a promise, an agreement rather than an oath. There was a little hush as the paper passed from hand to hand. Not a man there but felt a certain solemnity in the occasion. To preserve the Union and the flag, to fight all sedition, to love their country and support it; the very simplicity of the words was impressive. And the mere putting of it into visible form crystallized their hitherto vague anxieties, pointed to a real enemy and a real danger. Yet, as Willy Cameron pointed out, they might never be needed. “Our job,” he said, “is only as a last resort. Only for real trouble. Until the state troops can get here, for instance, and if the constabulary is greatly outnumbered. It's their work up to a certain point. We'll fight if they need us. That's all.” It was very surprising to him to find the enterprise financed immediately. Pink offered an office in the bank building. Some one agreed to pay a clerk who should belong to the committee. It was practical, businesslike, and--done. And, although he had protested, he found himself made the head of the organization. “--without title and without pay,” he stipulated. “If you wish a title on me, I'll resign.”