ete Clancy and
Nick Devereux, Kate Seton's hired men? They were all absent. So was
Kate herself. Ah, yes, he had heard she had gone to Myrtle. Anyway,
her sister, Helen, was there--with Mrs. John Day. Where was her
beau--Charlie Bryant's brother?

His excitement rose. The coincidence of these absences suggested
possibilities. The possibilities brought a fresh train of thought. He
suddenly realized that not a single policeman was present. This, of
course, might easily be accounted for on the score of duty. But their
absence, taken in conjunction with the absence of the others,
certainly was remarkable.

But now the ceremony was beginning. Mrs. John Day had assumed command,
and, surrounded by her select bodyguard, she was haranguing the
villagers, and enjoying herself tremendously. Yes, there was no manner
of doubt about her enjoyment. O'Brien's maliciously humorous eyes
watched her expression of smiling self-satisfaction, and estimated it
at its true worth. Her face was very red, and her arms swung about
like flails, beating the air in her efforts to carry conviction upon
an indifferent audience. He felt that the glory of that moment was
something she must have lived for for days, and a feeling of awful
anticipation swept over him as he considered her possible verbal and
physical antics at such time as the new church should be opened. He
felt that it would really be necessary to take a holiday on that
occasion.

However, the speech terminated, as speeches sometimes do, and a chorus
of applause dutifully followed, as such choruses generally do. And now
the great interest of the day was to begin.

Menfolk began to press the crowd back beyond the safety line, and two
of Mrs. Day's lumbermen, evidently sent down for the occasion by her
husband from his camp, picked up the two wooden mauls. At the same
time a man took his place at each guide rope.

O'Brien rubbed his hands. Now for the fun, and he thought of the old
legend. He wondered which of those silly-looking sheep, gazing in
open-mouthed expectation, were to be the victims of the old Indian
curse. And curiously enough, hard-headed, callous as he was, O'Brien
was convinced someone was to pay the penalty.

The great wedges were placed in position, and the heavy stroke of one
of the mauls resounded through the valley. A second wedge was placed,
and a second stroke fell. Then several strokes in swift succession,
and the men stood clear, and gazed upward with measuri