"I want to stand by you," said Collins, "but before I can 'gree to anything I must see my friends."
He hurried out, and, blending with the yelling of the intoxicated mob, the prisoners could hear the low tones of men in earnest conversation just outside the tent.
"What do you think of the situation, Hank?" asked Mr. Willett, when they were again alone.
"I think it is mighty bad," was the reply.
"But you surely do not think those men will shoot us down in cold blood?"
"They've done such things before. If they was only sober they'd do near right as they know how, but they ain't. Just hear how they yell! Talk about Injuns an' savages, a drunken white man is meaner and more bloodthirsty than all of 'em put together. Ah! It'd be a heap sight better world if thar was never a drop of whisky in it," and Hank sighed and shook his head.
He had but just ceased speaking when the flap of the tent was again raised and Collins re-entered. This time he brought the rifles and pistols that had been taken from the prisoners.
"Here!" he said, "we've agreed not to let you be kilt without a show. But we may git you to a place where you'll be safe till the mob has a chance to cool down. Quick! put on these things and foller me."
Mr. Willett and Hank fastened on their belts, and when they had done so, Collins put out the lamp and led the way out of the tent.
It was very dark outside and the rain had been followed by a fierce gale.