“Hold on!” he cautioned, as the driver reached out toward the horn. “Let her go until we see who they are. I suppose there’s no way round?”
“Not a cut-out trail until you reach the mill.”
“Then we’ll have to pass them. Don’t blow your horn or pull up unless you’re forced to.”
The car slid forward softly and a few moments later the backs of four men appeared in the fan-shaped stream of light. As it passed them another four were revealed, with more moving figures in the gloom beyond. Most of them seemed to be carrying something in the shape of extemporized weapons, and their advance was regular and orderly. This was not a mob, but an organized body on its way to execute some well-thought-out plan. As the car drew nearer a man swung round with a cry, and the rearmost fours stopped and faced about. There was a murmur of voices farther in front; and, seeing no way through, the driver stopped, though the engine rattled on.
“Let us pass, boys; you don’t want all the road,” he called good-naturedly.
None of them moved.
“Where are you going?” one asked.
“To the Clanch Mill,” answered the driver before Clay could stop him.
The men seemed to confer, and then one stood forward.
“You can’t go there to-night. Swing her round and light out the way you came!”