He had an idea that he had not
yet spoken, and was not among those nearest to him. Through the open
door he could see Washburn's lantern moving about in the stable.
"Hurry up in thar," cried a tall figure. "Do you think we're gwine
to--" He began to cough.
"How do you like to chaw cotton, Number Six?" a man near him asked.
"The blamed lint gits down my throat," was the reply. "I'd ruther be
knowed by my voice'n to choke to death on sech truck."
From far and near on all sides came the dismal barking of dogs, but the
villagers, if they suspected what was being enacted, dared not show
their faces. Washburn led a horse through the crowd and gave the
bridle to Westerfelt. He hesitated, as if about to speak, and then
silently withdrew. Westerfelt mounted. The leader gave the order, and
the gang moved back towards the mountain. Two horsemen went before
Westerfelt and two fell behind. As they passed the shop, dimly he saw
the form of a woman lying on the ground just out of the moonlight that
fell in at the door. Harriet had swooned. When they had gone past the
shop, Westerfelt reined in his horse and called over his shoulder to
Washburn, who stood in front of the stable.
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