“How is he?”
“Fine! He told me about your coming and staying with him. Confound it! he might have let me know he was sick! But no! his wife had to go and wire you!” Traile concluded ruefully, pausing for breath. He sat down.
“Have some breakfast?”
“Thanks, no. I’ve eaten. Then you—you saw all that last night?”
Stacey nodded. “Have you read the estimable comment in the morning paper?” he asked. “Listen!—‘Whatever the provocation it does not warrant any band of men taking the law into their own hands unless they are prepared to face the judgment of their fellow citizens for such an act.’ Seems sufficiently moderate, don’t you think?”
Traile flushed. “Isn’t that damnable!” he blurted out boyishly. “You must think I live in a rotten town!”
“No,” said Stacey somberly, “I wish I did think so. If that were all there was to it we could band together cheerfully to blow up Omaha.”
“I tell you what, Captain!” Traile cried, his face stern. “We’re going after the leaders if we can get them—going after them hard! There are scores of names listed already; there’ll be twice as many by to-night. General Wood’s been ordered here. Arriving to-morrow morning. And meanwhile we’re organizing the Legion men.”
Stacey nodded. “I thought you would be. That’s what I particularly wanted to see you about. I’m not from here, of course, but I want you to let me in on it.”
Traile’s face radiated a sudden joyful surprise. “You, Captain?” he exclaimed.