own his arm and hand:

"Marse Ned! Oh, an' for po' ole Zion! Don't risk yo' life--let 'em
take me!"

Dimly he saw the mob rushing up; vaguely it came to him that it was
kill or be killed. Vaguely, too, that it was the law--his law--and
every other man's law--against lawlessness. Hazily, that he was the
law--its representative, its defender, and then clear as the blue
barrel in his hand,--all the dimness and uncertainty gone,--it came
to him, that thing that made him say: "I am a Conway again!"

Then his pistol leaped from the shadow by his side to the gray light
in front, and the man who had fired and was again taking aim at the
old woman died in his tracks with his mouth twisted forever into the
shape of an unspoken curse.

It was enough. Stricken, paralyzed, they fell back before such
courage--and Conway found himself backing off into the woods,
covering the retreat of the prisoner. Then afterward he felt the
motion of buggy wheels, and of a galloping drive, and the jail, and
he in the sheriff's room, the old prisoner safe for the time.

CHAPTER XXIII

DIED FOR THE LAW

And thus was begun that historical lynching in the Tennessee
Valley--a tragedy which well might have remained unwritten had it not
fallen into the woof of this story.

A white man had been killed for a negro--that was enough.

It is true the man was attempting to commit murder in the face of the
law of the land; and in attempting it had shot the representative of
the law. It is true, also, that he had no grievance, being one of
several hundred law-breakers bent on murder. This, too, made no
difference; they neither thought nor cared;--for mobs, being
headless, do not think; and being soulless, do not suffer.

They had failed only for lack of a leader.

But now they had a leader, and a mob with a leader is a dangerous
thing.

That leader was Richard Travis.

It was after midnight when he rode up on the scene. Before he
arrived, Jud Carpenter had aroused the mob to do its first fury, and
still held them, now doubly vengeful and shouting to be led against
the jail. But to storm a jail they needed a braver man than Jud
Carpenter. And they found him in Richard Travis--especially Richard
Travis in the terrible mood, the black despair which had come upon
him that night.

Why did he come? He could not say. In him had surged two great forces
that night--the force of evil and the force of good. Twice had the
good overcome--now it was