He, too, recognized the hoarse cries of men with passions roused to a frenzy of rage and hate. Were they coming to lynch him? No; that shot fired a moment ago must have been intended for another than himself; some one of his confederates, in all probability.
But when they had finished dealing with the lesser member of the band, what more natural than that they should turn their rage upon its leader?
The thought brought out the cold beads of perspiration upon his brow, and he caught at the iron bars with a desperate effort to wrench them from their place and escape.
In vain; the task was beyond his strength; and with a groan of despair he relinquished the attempt.
“Well, it’s mesilf, Phalim O’Rourke, that’ll die game, annyhow, if it has to come till that same,” he muttered, grinding his teeth together, and pacing his narrow cell to and fro, like a wild beast in his cage.
Then he called aloud to the jailor, asking what all the noise was about; but no one came to answer his inquiry.
“I wish,” said Ronald Heath,“that I were able to run down there and see what it is all about.”
“I’m glad to have you kept out of it,” said his grandmother; “it seems to be always the innocent lookers-on that get hurt in time of a riot.”
“The impulse to seek the scene o’ excitement is vary natural to most folk, I think,” remarked McAllister—“to those o’ the male sex at least; but unless ane is likely to be o’ use in aiding the right, it’s far wiser to stay away.”
As by common consent they had all left the dining-room for the porch, and there they remained—too much excited to think of eating—listening intently to the yells and cries till the last of them had died away. Then they went through the form of taking their meal, but with scant appetite for the food, though it was well prepared and savory.