Sim Squires of the
Harper faction sat on the same short log with young Pete Doane of the
Rowletts, and so it ran with the rest.

"Couldn't ye contrive ter persuade Bas Rowlett ter jine us, Pete?"
inquired one of the two men who had swaggered with Sam Opdyke up the
court-house aisle, and gone out in crestfallen limpness. "Hit looks
like he'd ought ter hold with us. He war entitled ter leadership an'
they cast him over."

Pete shook his head and answered with the importance of an envoy:

"Bas, he's fer us, body an' soul, an' he aims ter succour us every way
he kin but he figgers he kin compass hit best fashion by _seemin'_ ter
stand solid with ther old leaders."

Sim Squires said nothing but he spat contemptuously when the name of Bas
Rowlett was mentioned.

"Ther fust task that lays ahead of us," declared the voice of Rick Joyce
who seemed to be the presiding officer of the meeting, "is ter see that
Sam Opdyke comes cl'ar in cote. When ther Doanes met in council, Sam war
thar amongst 'em an' no man denied he hed as good a right ter be
harkened to as anybody else. But they rid over him rough-shod. A few men
tuck ther bit in their teeth and flaunted ther balance of us. Now we
aims ter flaunt _them_ some."

"How air we goin' ter compass hit?" came a query, and the answer was
prompt.

"When ther panel's drawed ter try Sam we've got ter see that every man
on the jury gits secretly admonished thet atter he finishes up thar,
he's still got ter answer ter _us_--an' meantime we've got ter handle
some two-three offenders in sich a fashion thet men will fear ter
disobey us."

So working on that premise of injustices to be righted, malcontents from
the minorities of both factions were induced with fantastic ceremonials
of initiation into the membership of the secret brotherhood. And though
they were building an engine of menacing power and outlawry, it is
probable that more than half of them were men who might have turned on
their leaders, as a wolf pack turns on a fallen member, had they known
the deceit and the private grudge-serving with which the unseen hand of
Bas Rowlett was guiding them.

The dreamy languor of autumn gave way to the gusty melancholy of winds
that brought down the leaves from the walnut tree until it stretched out
branches disconsolate and reeking with only the more tenacious foliage
left clinging. Then Dorothy Thornton felt that the sand was running low
in the hour glass of respited happiness and