“Oh, I guess you wont do that,” came in the voice of the Sheriff from a point immediately outside the door. Otis thought he detected, if not fear, a note of hesitation in Ogden’s voice. He was afraid the Sheriff was bluffing. “Seems to me I have a little to say as to what happens to this here jail.”
“We don’t want no trouble with you-all, Sheriff,” came from the crowd. “Just give us them keys, peaceable, and there wont be none. We don’t want to muss up your little jail.”
“I know you, Simp!” responded the shrill voice of the jailer, from behind the door. “I can see ye! An’ you too, Jess, an’ Slim, an’ Spider, an’ Pink, an’—”
“Shut up!” boomed the gruff command of Lafe Ogden. Then, addressing the crowd:
“Boys, it seems you dont know what you’re try in’ to do. I aint goin’ to let you have Otis, an’ you might as well know it now. What do you want with him? He’s goin’ to have a fair trial, and if he’s guilty he’ll swing for it.”
An ominous silence greeted the Sheriff’s words. He went on:
“There aint been a lynchin’ here since I was Sheriff, and I don’t intend that this’ll be the first!”
Lynching! A shiver ran down Otis’ spine. Was that, then, the object of his erstwhile friends? Was he to be dragged out of the jail and unceremoniously strung up to a pine? He listened with bated breath as the Sheriff continued:
“You may be able to break into the jail, all right. I’m not sayin’ you can’t, ’cause I’m just one against forty. But I can promise you this. I can promise you that the first six or eight that start for this door will get punctured proper. I—”
“Where’s that rope?” came from somewhere in the crowd. The words struck home with chilling effect upon Otis. “All ready? Yip--yip--ee-e-e!”