“All right--all right!” assented the other. “Then I'll tell you somethin' else. Us men have come in broad daylight, not hidin' our faces from the noonday sun. We air open and aboveboard about this thing. Every able-bodied, self-respectin' white man in our precinct is right here with me today. We've talked it over and we know what we air doin'. If you want to take down our names and prosecute us in the cotes you kin go ahead.” Somebody else spoke up. “I'd admire to see the jury in this county that would pop the law to any one of us for swingin' up this nigger!” he said, chuckling at the naked folly of the notion. “You're right, my son,” said the judge, singling out the speaker with his aimed forefinger. “I ain't tryin' to scare grown men I like you with such talk as that. I know how you feel. I can understand how you feel--every man with white blood in his veins knows just what your feelin's are. I'm not trying to threaten you. I only want to reason with you and talk sense with you. This here boy ain't been identified yet--remember that!” “We know he's guilty!” said the leader. “I'll admit that circumstances may be against him,” pleaded the judge, “but his guilt remains to be proved. You can't hang any man--you can't hang even this poor, miserable little darky--jest on suspicion.” “The dogs trailed him, didn't they?” “A dog's judgment is mighty nigh as poor as a man's sometimes,” he answered back fighting hard for every shade of favor. “It's my experience that a bloodhound is about the biggest fool dog there is. Now listen here to me, boys, a minute. That boy in the jail is goin' to be tried just as soon as I can convene a special grand jury to indict him and a special term of court to try him, and if he's guilty I promise you he'll hang inside of thirty days.” “And drag that pore little thing--my own first cousin--into a cotehouse to be shamed before a lot of these town people--no!” the voice of the leader rose high. “Cotes and juries may do for some cases, but not for this. That nigger is goin' to die right now!” He glanced back at his followers; they were ready--and more than ready. On his right a man had uncoiled a well-rope and was tying a slipknot in it. He tested the knot with both hands and his teeth, then spat to free his lips of the gritty dust and swung the rope out in long doubled coils to reeve the noose in it. “Jedge Priest, for the last time, stand aside!” warned the beaky-nosed man. His voice carried the accent of finality and ultimate decision in it. “You've done wore our patience plum' out. Boys, if you're ready come on!” “One minute!” The judge's shrill blare of command held them against their wills. He was lowering his umbrella. “One minute and one word more!”