h group had a commander freshly come from a sort of staff meeting,
which had already decided the larger questions of policy. There would be
little debate here, only the sharp giving of orders which none would
venture to disobey.

Rick Joyce took inventory of the faces and mentally called his roll.
Then he nodded his head and said brusquely, "We're ready ter go ahead
now."

The men lounged about him with a pretence of stoical composure, but
under that guise was a mighty disquiet, for even in an organization of
his own upbuilding the mountaineer frets against the despotic power that
says "thou shall" and "thou shalt not."

"Thar's been treason amongst us," announced Rick Joyce, sharply, and
every man seemed to find that wrathful glance resting accusingly upon
himself. "Thar's been treason that's got ter be paid in full an' with
int'rest hereatter. Thet thing thet tuck place last night was mighty
damnable an' erginst all orders. Ther fellers thet did hit affronted
this hyar army of riders thet they stood sworn ter obey."

Whether among those followers gathered about him there were any who had
participated in last night's murder Rick Joyce did not know, but he knew
that a minority had run to a violence which had been neither ordered nor
countenanced. They had gotten out of hand, wreaked a premature
vengeance, and precipitated the need of action before the majority was
ready. But it was now too late to waste time in lamentation. The thing
was done, and the organization saddled with that guilt must strike or be
struck down.

The Ku Klux had meant to move at its own appointed time, with the
irresistible sweep and force of an avalanche. Before the designated
season a lighter snowslide had broken away and the avalanche had no
choice but to follow.

To-morrow every aroused impulse of law and order would be battle-girt
and the secret body would be on the defensive--perhaps even on the run.
If it were to hold the offensive it must strike and terrorize before
another day had dawned--and that was not as it had planned its course.

"Hit's too late now ter cry over spilt milk," declared Joyce with a burr
in his voice. "Later on we'll handle our own traitors--right now thar's
another task thet won't suffer no delay."

He paused, scowling, then enlightened his hearers briefly:

"We warn't ready ter finish up this matter yit but now we hain't got no
choice. Hit's ternight or never. We stands disgusted by all mankind, an'
in she