In an instant Cameron was upon him. Breaking down the miner’s resistance as one might crush the puny efforts of a child, he seized his wrist, and forced it around behind his back and upward. Then he began to twist. That hold, properly taken, is one of the most terrible tortures to which a man can be subjected. Each attempt to escape only increases the agony. Under its deadly punishment, strong men break down and cry like children. That is exactly what Williams did. His breath coming in harsh sobs, he at length muttered the words of the required apology. Cameron instantly released him. Again jerking him to his feet, he hurried him to the gate and shoved him out. “Now go,” he ground out, “and thank God, if you know who He is, that you’re alive! Never mind the revolvers! I’ll take charge of them. And, if I ever catch you around here again, I’ll shoot you on sight!” He watched the man as he made his way, humiliated, venomous, muttering, into the town. Then he hastened back to the girl. “Oh, Rand, oh, Rand,” she whispered through white lips, “I wish I had never seen this place!” “Don’t feel so badly, Jeanne,” he pleaded unhappily. “It will soon be the town you used to love. We have little to fear from that beast now. And I think, sweet—er—I think we have almost reached the goal! Our work the other night won all of the good element over, and most of the doubtful ones. The big majority are eager for the election. I feel sure we are nearly at the end of our troubles!” But had he known of a bitter meeting which took place that night between a certain seventeen, he would not have been so confident. “I know who’s at the head o’ this thing now,” one of them was muttering savagely. “I seen somethin’ to-day, an’ I know all I needs to know! I figgers that if we can git rid o’ the leaders—or any o’ the rest o’ them, in the meanwhile—we can put a stop to it yet! An’ I’m not a-goin’ to leave Red Valley until I gits one o’ them myself!” CHAPTER VIII. THE WASP’S STING. Two days later, at nine o’clock in the morning, a cavalcade of black-robed riders, in column of fours, trotted silently into Ramapo. There were at least two hundred of them. Their costume was identical with that of the body which had appeared at the “Silver Star,” with one exception—behind the large, red “J” other smaller letters completed the word “Justice.” Once inside the town, they quickly broke up into smaller units. Strong groups posted themselves at the head of each road leading into the town. Others quietly patrolled the streets. The main body formed in front of the post-office and made preparations for the work before them. There was a skill in the disposition of the riders, an orderly snap and precision about all their movements, that betrayed competent leadership by one experienced in military strategy. When the visitors had taken position, there was as much chance for resistance in Ramapo as for the proverbial snowball in the well-known place of warmth and discomfort.