or a few
minutes no move was made. Then Grant, who had left the hallway and was
looking through the window, saw the little figure of Joseph Calvin
moving officiously among the men. He went into the saloon, and came out
again after a time. Then Grant cried to Brotherton at the head of the
stairs:

"Watch out--they're coming; more of them this time." And half a dozen
armed men rushed across the street and appeared at the door of the
hallway.

"Stop," yelled Brotherton--whose great voice itself sounded a terrifying
alarm in the darkened hallway. The feet of two men were on the first
steps of the stairs--they looked up and saw three gun barrels pointing
down at them, and heard Brotherton call "one--two--three," but before he
could say "fire" the men fell back panic stricken and ran out of the
place.

The crowd left the sidewalk and moved into the saloon, and the street
was deserted for a time. Local No. 10 held its post down by the Company
Store. It seemed like an age to the men at the head of the stairs. Yet
Mr. Brotherton's easy running fire of ribaldry never stopped. He was
excited and language came from his throat without restraint.

Then Grant's quick ear caught a sound that made him shudder. It was far
away, a shrill high note; in a few seconds the note was repeated, and
with it the animal cry one never mistakes who hears it--the cry of an
angry mob. They could hear it roaring over the bridge upon the Wahoo and
they knew it was the mob from Magnus, Plain Valley and Foley coming. On
it came, with its high-keyed horror growing louder and louder. It turned
into the street and came roaring and whining down to the meeting place
at the saloon. It filled the street. Then appeared Mr. Calvin following
a saloon porter, who was rolling a whiskey barrel from the saloon. The
porter knocked in the head, and threw tin cups to the crowd.

"What do you think of that for a praying Christian?" snarled Mr.
Brotherton. No one answered Mr. Brotherton, for the whiskey soon began
to make the crowd noisy. But the leaders waited for the whiskey to make
the crowd brave. The next moment, Van Dorn's automobile--the old one,
not the new one--came chugging up. Grant, at the window, looked out and
turned deathly sick. For he saw the puddler who had bullied him during
the day get out of the car, and in the puddler's grasp was Kenyon--with
white face, but not whimpering.

The men made way for the puddler, who hurried the boy into the saloon.