affair, the crowd dispersed, some to go to their
dinners, and some to secure recruits for the lynching party.

It was twenty minutes to five o'clock, when an excited negro, panting
and perspiring, rushed up to the back door of Sheriff Campbell's
dwelling, which stood at a little distance from the jail and somewhat
farther than the latter building from the court-house. A turbaned
colored woman came to the door in response to the negro's knock.

"Hoddy, Sis' Nance."

"Hoddy, Brer Sam."

"Is de shurff in," inquired the negro.

"Yas, Brer Sam, he 's eatin' his dinner," was the answer.

"Will yer ax 'im ter step ter de do' a minute, Sis' Nance?"

The woman went into the dining-room, and a moment later the sheriff came
to the door. He was a tall, muscular man, of a ruddier complexion than
is usual among Southerners. A pair of keen, deep-set gray eyes looked
out from under bushy eyebrows, and about his mouth was a masterful
expression, which a full beard, once sandy in color, but now profusely
sprinkled with gray, could not entirely conceal. The day was hot; the
sheriff had discarded his coat and vest, and had his white shirt open at
the throat.

"What do you want, Sam?" he inquired of the negro, who stood hat in
hand, wiping the moisture from his face with a ragged shirt-sleeve.

"Shurff, dey gwine ter hang de pris'ner w'at 's lock' up in de jail.
Dey 're comin' dis a-way now. I wuz layin' down on a sack er corn down at
de sto', behine a pile er flour-bairls, w'en I hearn Doc' Cain en Kunnel
Wright talkin' erbout it. I slip' outen de back do', en run here as fas'
as I could. I hearn you say down ter de sto' once't dat you would n't
let nobody take a pris'ner 'way fum you widout walkin' over yo' dead
body, en I thought I 'd let you know 'fo' dey come, so yer could pertec'
de pris'ner."

The sheriff listened calmly, but his face grew firmer, and a determined
gleam lit up his gray eyes. His frame grew more erect, and he
unconsciously assumed the attitude of a soldier who momentarily expects
to meet the enemy face to face.

"Much obliged, Sam," he answered. "I 'll protect the prisoner. Who 's
coming?"

"I dunno who-all _is_ comin'," replied the negro. "Dere 's Mistah
McSwayne, en Doc' Cain, en Maje' McDonal', en Kunnel Wright, en a heap
er yuthers. I wuz so skeered I done furgot mo' d'n half un em. I spec'
dey mus' be mos' here by dis time, so I 'll git outen de way, fer I don'
want nobody fer ter think I wuz mix'