“You-all ought to be ashamed of yerselves,” he went on, his voice sinking to a gentle neighborly reproof, “tryin’ to upset the law this way.” “The nigger didn’t upset no law, did he?” asked one derisively. “Well, the law’s goin’ to take care of the nigger now,” Mathews made answer. “Give us that scoundrel, Mathews; you’d better do it,” said the old man. “It’ll save a heap o’ trouble.” “I’ll not argue with ye, Morgan. I said ye couldn’t have him, an’ ye can’t. If ye want bloodshed, all right. But don’t blame me. I’ll kill the first man that tries to make a move this way.” He shifted his gun handily and waited. The crowd stood outside his little fence murmuring. Presently the old man retired and spoke to several others. There was more murmuring, and then he came back to the dead line. “We don’t want to cause trouble, Mathews,” he began explanatively, moving his hand oratorically, “but we think you ought to see that it won’t do any good to stand out. We think that----” Davies and the postmaster were watching young Jake, whose peculiar attitude attracted their attention. The latter was standing poised at the edge of the crowd, evidently seeking to remain unobserved. His eyes were on the sheriff, who was hearkening to the old man. Suddenly, as the father talked and when the sheriff seemed for a moment mollified and unsuspecting, he made a quick run for the porch. There was an intense movement all along the line as the life and death of the deed became apparent. Quickly the sheriff drew his gun to his shoulder. Both triggers were pressed at the same time, and the gun spoke, but not before Jake was in and under him. The latter had been in sufficient time to knock the gun barrel upward and fall upon his man. Both shots blazed harmlessly over the heads of the crowd in red puffs, and then followed a general onslaught. Men leaped the fence by tens and crowded upon the little cottage. They swarmed about every side of the house and crowded upon the porch, where four men were scuffling with the sheriff. The latter soon gave up, vowing vengeance and the law. Torches were brought, and a rope. A wagon drove up and was backed into the yard. Then began the calls for the negro. As Davies contemplated all this he could not help thinking of the negro who during all this turmoil must have been crouching in his corner in the cellar, trembling for his fate. Now indeed he must realize that his end was near. He could not have dozed or lost consciousness during the intervening hours, but must have been cowering there, wondering and praying. All the while he must have been terrified lest the sheriff might not get him away in time. Now, at the sound of horses’ feet and the new murmurs of contention, how must his body quake and his teeth chatter! “I’d hate to be that nigger,” commented the postmaster grimly, “but you can’t do anything with ’em. The county oughta sent help.” “It’s horrible, horrible!” was all Davies could say.