With a howl like a wolf-pack the mob rushed into the church after him.
Shirley Rouke seized his extra camera, ran behind the church and set it in position just as the mob came pouring out of the rear door.
Sour was aiming for the deep woods in the rear of the church, but as he started for them he confronted Skeeter with his automatic pistol. Sour had no means of knowing whether Skeeter had reloaded his gun, so he ducked and started at full speed around the church with the mob in hot pursuit.
He dived into the church through the front door again, leaped out of a side window and started for the woods. But the mob split into two parts in the church, some of them going out of the rear door and some out of the front, and they met half-way around the Shoofly church with Sour Sudds in the middle.
Struggling, panting, fighting, finally screaming for help, Sour plunged and kicked and bit and scratched, working his way around to the front of the church again.
And there stood Lalla Cordona, her shapely hands clutched across her heaving bosom, watching the fray.
“He’p, Laller, fer Gawd’s sake! Dey’ll kill me!” Sour shrieked, with arms outstretched toward her.
It was his last word.
He went down in the whirlpool of spinning arms and legs while the mob snarled like wild hogs and tore at his prostrate body.
The sight sickened the girl and she turned away with face agonized, horror-stricken. Then the wretched negro’s prayerful plea for help galvanized her into action.