ce." He told briefly the story of what
had happened.

Mark Wilson did not hesitate. He raised a whistle to his lips and
signaled for the men to cease work and assemble. One by one they began
to appear from among the trees. The horses were led along, their
dragging harnesses clanking in the frozen air. "We could cut for 2 more
hours," they protested. "No use wasting this daylight and having to cut
by lantern."

"Never mind," said Wilson. "There's something else to do. Wait for the
rest."

When all had assembled he jerked his head toward Ken. "Go ahead," he
said. "You tell them."

Ken repeated in detail everything that had happened. He outlined the
Mayor's plan of defense and passed on the order for them to take all
mounts to City Hall, to go by their own homes on the way and pick up
such weapons as they owned. "You'll get your further orders there," he
finished.

The group was silent, as if they could not believe it was actually
happening. Mark Wilson broke the spell that seemed to be over them.
"Come on!" he cried. "Get the lead out of your shoes and let's get down
there! Sunset's the deadline!"

There was a rush of motion then. They hitched up the necessary teams and
climbed aboard the half-filled sleds. There was no excitement or
swearing against fate and their enemies. Rather, a solemn stillness
seemed to fill each man as the sleds moved off down the hard, frozen
roadway.

Almost, but not quite the same pervading stillness was present in the
town when Ken returned. There was a stirring of frantic activity like
that of a disturbed anthill, but it was just as silent. The runners
moved from block to block. In their wake the alarmed block leaders
raced, weapons in hand, from house to house, arousing their neighbors.
Many, who had already completed the block mobilization, were moving in
ragged formations to the sector ordered by the block runner according to
Sheriff Johnson's plan.

Ken did not know what was planned for the many weaponless men who were
being assembled. They would be useless at the frontline. There was need
for some at the rear. He supposed Johnson would take care of that later
when every weapon was manned at the defense barrier.

He stopped at his own house. His mother greeted him anxiously. He could
see she had been crying, but she had dried her tears now and was
reconciled to the inevitable struggle that was at hand.

"Your father came in a few minutes ago, and left again," she said. "He's