Edward Conway flashed hot through his paleness and he placed himself before the bowed and moaning form while the crowd in front of him surged and shouted and called for a rope.
He felt some one touch his arm and turned to find the sheriff by his side—one of those disreputables who infested the South after the war, holding office by the votes of the negroes.
“Better let 'em have her,—it ain't worth the while. You'll hafter kill, or be killed.”
“You scallawag!” said Conway, now purple with anger—“is that the way you respect your sworn oath? And you have been here and seen all this and not raised your hand?”
“Do you think I'm fool enuff to tackle that crowd of hillbillies? They've got the devil in them—fur they've got a devil leadin' 'em—Jud Carpenter. Better let 'em have her—they'll kill you. We've got a good excuse—overpowered—don't you see?”
“Overpowered? That's the way all cowards talk,” said Conway. “Do one thing for me,” he said quickly—“tell them you have appointed me your deputy. If you do not—I'll fall back on the law of riots and appoint myself.”
“Gentlemen,” said the sheriff, turning to the crowd, and speaking half-shamedly—“Gentlemen, it's better an' I hopes you all will go home. We don't wanter hurt nobody. I app'ints Major Conway my deputy to take the prisoner to jail. Now the blood be on yo' own heads. I've sed my say.”
A perfect storm of jeers met this. They surged forward to seize her, while the sheriff half frightened, half undecided, got behind Conway and said:—“It's up to you—I've done all I cu'd.”
“Go back to your homes, men”—shouted Conway—“I am the sheriff here now, and I swear to you by the living God it means I am a Conway again, and the man who lays a hand on this old woman is as good as dead in his tracks!”
For an instant they surged around him cursing and shouting; but he stood up straight and terribly silent; only his keen grey eyes glanced down to the barrel of his pistol and he stood nervously fingering the small blue hammer with his thumb and measuring the distance between himself and the nearest ruffian who stood on the outskirts of the mob shaking a pistol in Conway's face and shouting: “Come on, men, we'll lynch her anyway!”