rded as unimportant, the tempest violence of the mob
hung suspended, inquisitive, astonished.

The tanned face of the witness had become pallid, but out of it his eyes
shot jets of fire, hysterical to madness, yet convincing in an
earnestness that transcended the fear of death and carried indubitable
conviction. His body shook with a palsy as he confronted the man whom,
next to Bas Rowlett, he had feared above all others; and now in evidence
of his impassioned sincerity he blurted out his own confession.

"I kilt Joe Joyce," announced Sim Squires, "an' I sought ter kill Parish
Thornton, too, when he fust come hyar, but I done both them deeds
because I didn't dast gainsay ther man thet bade me do 'em. His
bull-dozin' terrified me ... his power over me made me a craven, an' his
dollars in my pocket paid me fer them dasterdly jobs. Thet man war Bas
Rowlett thar!"

The leader of the mob stood for an instant with the stunned senses of an
ox struck by a cleaver, and after that first dumfounded moment he wanted
the truth, as a starving man wants food. Joe Joyce had been his nephew,
and if this witness were telling the truth it would not appease him to
take vengeance on the servant only. A more summary punishment was owing
to the master.

Now he gulped down the tight constriction of his throat and ordered, "Go
on! Tell hit all!"

Rowlett again thrust himself forward, but Rick Joyce, scarcely looking
at him, sent him reeling backward with an open-handed blow against his
chest.

With torrential and cascading onrush came the capitulation of the long
and black record against the master plotter from its beginning in
jealousy to its end in betrayal of the Ku Klux.

"He come over hyar when this man Thornton lay in jail an' sought ter
make love ter thet woman," shouted the frenzied witness, but Dorothy,
who had been leaning unnerved and dazed against the wall, raised a
warning hand and interrupted.

"Stop!" she shouted. "I've done told Parish all thet! Whatever he heers
erbout this man, he heers from me. We don't need no other testimony!"

Then it was that the room began to waver and spin about Dorothy
Thornton, until with the drone of the hired man's voice diminishing in
her ears she fell swooning, and was lifted to a chair.

When her eyes opened--even before they opened--she was conscious again
of that voice, but now it was one of dominating confidence, stinging
with invective; scourging with accusations that could be ver