She must have slept some little time, for when she awoke the stars had certainly changed places and were moreover becoming pale in the first grey streaks of morning. Olive awoke shivering with cold and drenched with the heavy prairie dew. Her teeth chattered, so she could hear them like a piece of broken machinery moving inside her head, while her fingers were almost numb. As soon as she could make out Rebel in the approaching dawn, she saddled him, and, woman-like, did not forget the lariat-rope, picket-pin and mallet, even in the midst of her terrible anxiety. She thought of Cotterell in the hands of his foes, and the recollection came back to her, like a blow that almost stunned her, that this would be the last time he would ever see the sun rise unless she hurried to his rescue. The thought spurred her to renewed activity, the horror of it drove the chilled blood with a rush to her heart. She caught her breath, and then felt hot. She did not shiver any more, and her chattering teeth were set in a desperate resolve. She clambered up on the horse’s back and set off at a gallop towards that house where she would get positive news which would help her to find the lynching-party quickly. Ah! merciful God! The lynching-party! She urged Rebel into a harder gallop, for the sun was just beginning to appear over the horizon, and she could see where she was going. She reached the cabin where the Halls lived in due course. They didn’t know her, but they invited her to breakfast with prairie courtesy. She saw the negro man who had told the news to Napoleon Pompey. “Yes, he seed ’em totin’ ole man Cotterell back.” There was never any doubt in Olive’s mind as to the fact that they had caught him, what she wanted to know was the destination of the party. “He ’lowed dey was gwine ter Jacksonville, ’cause down yonder was whar dey hang de las’ man; den dey jury-try him, an’ Jacksonville mighty handy anyhow, dar heaps o’ trees dar.” Olive could not repress a shudder of horror which the negro saw, and so did the Halls. She would not stop a moment to eat a bit of breakfast, notwithstanding their urgent entreaties, but got directions as to the shortest road to Jacksonville and hastened away on her errand of mercy. Mrs. Hall looking after her rapidly vanishing figure, and remembering the look of misery on her face, “reckoned ’twas one o’ them po’ silly gals as is cotched by a yaller ’stache. She was powerful sorry for her anyhow, she ’peared mos’ broke down an’ sick. She ’lowed if the boys hed hung ole man Cotterell when Glover’s gal shot herself ’cause he wouldn’t marry her, ’twould hev been a sight better anyhow.” Her husband was of opinion that “gals was fules gapin’ a’ter strangers an’ furrin fellers, not bein’ content along o’ their nat’ral men-folks as b’longed to ’em, app’inted by the hand o’ Providence.”