From every window at least two bright rings of metal—remorseless eyes of the grim forty-four—were turned upon them. And behind each weapon was the motionless, black figure of one of the dreaded night-riders!
The costume of the visitors consisted of a long, effuse garment which fell almost to the feet, and was topped by a cape, so arranged as to cover the back and breast while leaving the arms free. It was surmounted by a round helmet-like hood. A flap, which fell like the chain-mail of the knights of the Middle Ages from under the hood, and in which oblong horizontal apertures were cut for the eyes, effectively concealed the entire head and face. The sinister blackness of the habit was relieved by just one thing—the even more sinister red “J” on the right breast of each rider!
One of the visitors, distinguished by his height, his powerful shoulders, and the slightly larger “J” on his arm, advanced into the saloon. The men gave way before him, and he stood alone before the bar.
“Keep quiet,” he said in a clear, emotionless voice, “and there will be no trouble.”
Nevertheless, from the back of the crowd, a voice spoke. “I know you,” it snarled. “Tryin’ to work the Ku Klux Klan again, eh? Well, that old game won’t go in this town!”
Very quietly half a dozen revolvers focused themselves on the unprepossessing face of “Wasp” Williams, rising above the heads of his companions. He did not speak again.
The black-robed figure in the center eyed the silent assembly keenly for a moment, then beckoned toward the door. Another figure entered, carrying several articles. It climbed nimbly upon the bar, straddled the space between it and the wide shelf where the array of bottled liquor stood, and, with leisurely attention to symmetry and design, pasted two posters upon the mirror behind. Then it coming down again. It stood for a moment beside the other, and seemed to be dwarfed by comparison. Its eyes could be seen traveling slowly over the speechless crowd. Finally, with a gesture plainly expressive of contempt and disappointment, it turned and passed out as silently as it had come.
The posters were printed in large, black letters, and at the bottom of each was the now familiar red “J.”
The tall man before the bar again addressed the crowd. His voice was quiet; but there was a quality in it which conveyed a stern warning.
“Just a word or two before we leave. This organization has been formed in the interests of decency and justice. It will exist just as long as it is necessary—and no longer. No man who is decent and straight has anything to fear from us.