“Pin his arms behind him!” said another.
Some one quickly pinioned his arms with a cord. He stood in helpless rage and pity, and as he saw the match applied, bowed his head and burst into tears.
He looked up at the silent crowd standing there like voiceless ghosts with renewed wonder.
Under the glare of the light and the tears the crowd seemed to melt into a great crawling swaying creature, half reptile half beast, half dragon half man, with a thousand legs, and a thousand eyes, and ten thousand gleaming teeth, and with no ear to hear and no heart to pity!
All they would grant him was the privilege of gathering Dick’s ashes and charred bones for burial.
The morning following the lynching, the Preacher hurried to Tom Camp’s to see how he was bearing the strain.
His door was wide open, the bureau drawers pulled out, ransacked, and some of their contents were lying on the floor.
“Poor old fellow, I’m afraid he’s gone crazy!” exclaimed the Preacher. He hurried to the cemetery. There he found Tom at the newly made grave. He had worked through the night and dug the grave open with his bare hands and pulled the coffin up out of the ground. He had broken his finger nails all off trying to open it and his fingers were bleeding. At last he had given up the effort to open the coffin, sat down beside it, and was arranging her toys he had made for her beside the box. He had brought a lot of her clothes, a pair of little shoes and stockings, and a bonnet, and he had placed these out carefully on top of the lid. He was talking to her.
The Preacher lifted him gently and led him away, a hopeless madman.