“Mark my word,” Trawley added, confidently, “the day o' mobs hereabouts is over. This was the straw that breaks the camel's back. The old klan is down an' out, an' Paul Rundel will settle the young gang. They respect 'im. They can't help it, an' he told me he was goin' to make it his chief aim to crush it out.” Hoag remained silent and Trawley went to a stall in the rear and brought his horse forward. “You ain't goin' in to see Henry 'fore you go out, are you?” he asked, as he released the bridle-reins. “Not to-night,” was the reply. “He may be 'asleep. I'll--I'll see 'im, I reckon, to-morrow.” Hoag thrust a clumsy foot into the wooden stirrup, and bent his knees as if to mount, but failed. There was a block near by, and he led his horse to it, and from the block finally got into the saddle. “Good night,” he said, and he rode away. At the street-corner he took out his revolver and, holding it in one hand, he urged his horse into a gallop. From every fence-corner or dark clump of bushes on the roadside he expected to see armed men arise and confront him. CHAPTER XXVIII |ONE morning, three days later, as Paul was writing in his room his employer came in holding a sheet of paper in his hand. His face was bloated, his eyes bloodshot; he had lost flesh and quivered in every limb and muscle. “I want to ask a favor,” he said, in a tone which was almost that of pleading humility. “What is it? I'm at your service,” the young man said, politely indicating the vacant chair beside the table. Hoag caught the back of the chair as if to steady himself, but declined to sit down. He made a dismal failure of a smile of unconcern. “You needn't think I'm gittin' ready to die by this move o' mine,” he began, “but I think any sensible man ought to be prepared for any possible accident to him. I've made my will, an' I want you to witness it. It won't be contested, and your name will be sufficient.” “Oh, I see.” Paul was mystified, but he took the document from the nerveless hand and spread it open on the table. “You needn't bother to read it through.” Hoag's voice trailed away toward indistinctness, and he coughed and cleared his throat. “I've made an even divide of all my effects betwixt Jack an' Henry an' Eth', an'--an' I've specified that the business--in case o' my death--is to run on under your care till Jack is of age--that is, if you are willin': you to draw whatever pay you feel is reasonable or is fixed by the law.” “Of course that is agreeable,” Paul answered, “though I shall count on your aid and advice for a good many years, I am sure.” Hoag blinked. He swung on the chair a moment, then he added: