It was as if they had expected it; there was no demonstration, no confusion. The men of Gibeon were strangely unmoved, strangely silent, strangely stern. It was as if they were moved by a common impulse, a common determination. They were not many individuals, but a single entity.... They had been molded into solidity--and that solidity was Gibeon. The faces were faces no longer, but human beings, men standing erect as if waiting for a signal.... Among them Carmel saw Jared Whitefield. His eyes encountered hers, and he nodded.... “Will you come with me?” she cried. “Will you follow me?... Those who will follow--come!...” She descended from the platform and a lane opened before her; she reached the door and turned.... The men of Gibeon were behind her, and as if they were a company marching behind its commander they followed her down the stairs. There was no shouting, no confusion, no unsightly mob spirit.... Along the street stood waiting cars, the cars of the farmers of the town, and men crowded into them beyond their capacity.... It was a crusade, the crusade of Gibeon, and Carmel had preached it. They started quietly, grimly, an orderly procession. It moved through the streets, across the bridge, and out the road toward the Lakeside Hotel.... A hundred men bent upon purging their community of a thing which had debauched it.... On and on, urgent, inexorable, moved the line of cars.... Then a sudden stop. The road was barricaded, and men with rifles stood behind to block the way. “What’s this here?” bellowed a voice out of the darkness. “What kind of goin’s on is this here?” It was Sheriff Jenney. There was no answer. “I order ye to disperse and git to your homes quietly,” he said. “We hain’t goin’ to have no mobbin’ in Gibeon.” The cars emptied and men crowded forward. “Out of the way, Jenney,” a voice commanded. “We’re in no humor to be meddled with to-night.” “Don’t go resistin’ an officer,” Jenney roared. “Disperse like I told ye.” Then Jared Whitefield forced his way to the front, and on either side of him were strangers to Gibeon. They leaped the barricade before Jenney, taken by surprise, could move his hand. Whitefield dropped a heavy hand on Jenney’s shoulder. “Jenney,” he said, “drop that gun. You’re under arrest.” “Arrest!... Me? Who kin arrest the sheriff of a county.” He laughed loudly. “I can,” said Whitefield. “Drop that gun.” Jenney twisted in Whitefield’s grip, but the huge man held him as in a vise. “You’ve gone ag’in’ somethin’ bigger than a township or a county, Jenney, or even a state.... It’s the United States of America that’s puttin’ you under arrest, Jenney, through me, its duly appointed marshal.... _Drop that gun!_” The United States of America! The Federal authorities had taken a hand. That explained Whitefield’s absence.... The United States!... Carmel sobbed. In this thing she had the might of America behind her! The authority of a nation!