His friend, accosted, nodded grimly, his mouth was shut tight and turned down deep at the corners. There did not lack one or two willing at least to talk further. One was a young man, rather well dressed, apparently fresh from church. He spoke to any who would listen. "What I mean to say, men, is this," said he, "we've got to do something to clean up this town. It's the _people_ that's behind the law anyhow. Am I right?" "He talks like a lawyer--what he says is pretty true," said one farmer to another. "That was a strong sermon our minister preached tonight," said yet another. "He said we'd have to stamp out crime and make a warnin'. The preacher e'en--a'most pointed out what we ought to do." "... We'd ought to make a clean sweep of this whole family," said the same young man, more boldly now. "They're a bad lot--both her son and her." "... We could break into the jail easy," said someone, after a time. "Cowles couldn't keep us from it. Maybe he wouldn't want to." "... The trouble is," resumed the voice of the young man who had earlier spoken, "it's hard to make a law case stick. We've seen how that worked out in the trial yesterday--he came clear--they dropped the case, and nothing was done. Old Eph Adamson had to take all the medicine. But we ought to take our place as a law-abiding community--I've always said that." "And God-fearin'," said a devout voice. "Yes, a God-fearing community! It's been twenty years now that that woman has flaunted her vice in the face of this community." "Ain't a man in this town that don't know about her--it's just sort o' quieted down, that's all," said a gray-bearded, peak-chinned man grimly; which was more or less true, as more than one man present knew, himself not guiltless enough of heart at least to cast the first stone at Aurora Lane. "In the old times," grinned one stoutish man, chewing tobacco and speaking to a neighbor who held a hand cupped at his ear, "the folks wouldn't of stood it. They'd just 'a' had a little feather party. They rid such people out of town on a rail them days--that's what they done. And they didn't never come back after that--never in the world. As for a murderer--they made a eend of him!" "And so could we make a eend of it all right now, this very night, if we had a little sand," said another voice. For a time all these speakers fell silent, seeking resolve, waiting for an order, a command. But as they became silent they grew more uneasy. They broke ground, shifted, milled about, still like cattle. Then head was laid to head, beard wagged to beard again. And then, all at once, it broke! "_Come on, boys!_" cried a loud voice at last--not that of the young man who first had spoken--not that of any of these others speakers who had hesitated, lacking courage of definite sort. "_Come on! Who's with me?_"