Through the misty moonlight a coal-black horse, bearing a rider who once more awakens the clamoring echoes with his bugle, comes tearing at a mad gallop.
"Up with 'em!" repeats Wade Miller, fiercely, as the black-hooded men seem to hesitate.
The ropes tighten.
"Stop!"
One of the men utters the command, and his companions hesitate.
"Muriel is death on revernues," says the one who had spoken, "an' thar ain't any reason why we-uns shouldn't wait fer him."
"That's so."
More than half the men agree with the one who has interrupted the execution, filling Wade Miller with unutterable rage.
"Fools!" snarled the chief ruffian of the party. "I am leadin' you-uns now, an' ye've gotter do ez I say. I order ye ter string them critters up!"
Nearer and nearer came the clattering hoof-beats.