“Well, anyhow, it looks mighty queer to me,” said Sammy, tactlessly shaking his head. “I don’t like this awful stillness. It isn’t like this even on ordinary nights.” Jane clutched Lansing’s arm and shook it violently. “Doctor Lansing,” she cried, “we must return to Oliver’s house immediately. He will have to come over to our house—Better still, Sammy, you must drive him up to the city. To-night. At once. I am frightened. Something terrible is afoot. I know it. I feel it. It is so still. Look! Why aren’t the street lamps in Maple Avenue lighted? It is as dark as—” “By jingo, Lansing!” exclaimed Sammy, starting up from his seat to peer over the windshield. “See that? Men running across Maple Avenue. ’Way up yonder where that arc light is at Fiddler Street. Three or four men. Didn’t you see them?” “We must beat it back to Oliver’s,” half shouted Lansing, excitedly. “Take the women home first,” ordered Sammy, “and then come back. I’ll go on ahead.” “Wait!” commanded Mr. Sage. “Drive on up Maple, Sammy. Follow those men. See what they are up to. They are headed for the swamp road. Lansing and I will follow you in a jiffy. Drive like the devil!” he shouted in ringing tones. “No, no, no!” screamed Jane. “The other way! To Oliver’s! I will not go home. I am going to him! Turn around—turn around! Do you hear me?” “Where in God’s name are the police?” cried Josephine. “We can’t take you back there,” cried Lansing. “Hell may be to pay. It’s no place for women, Jane. Sit still! I’ll have you home in two minutes.” “I will jump out! I swear to heaven I will,” she cried shrilly. “Turn back!” commanded Jane’s mother. “I am not afraid of them. Jane is not afraid. We cannot desert Oliver if he is in danger. Please God he may not be. Turn back, I say!” “Yes!” cried the minister. “We must go to Oliver—all of us!” The two cars made reckless turns in the narrow street and were off like the wind. CHAPTER XXIV THE HANGING The mob, grim, silent and determined, advanced upon the house from the upper reaches of the swamp, a swaying, unwieldy mass that surged up the slope and thinned into a compact, snake-like column in the narrow road. Since ten o’clock men by twos and threes and fours had been making their way through back streets and lanes to an appointed spot an eighth of a mile east of the Baxter home, the tree-bordered swale that marked the extreme northern end of the slough. There were no lights, and none spoke save in cautious whispers, nor was there one in all the grim three hundred who did not tremble under the strain of suppressed excitement—as the dog trembles when he is held in leash with the scent of the quarry in his quivering nostrils.