“Ever hear of any night riders in this community?” Mr. Parker asked after a moment, his tone casual.
“Never did,” the sheriff replied emphatically. “And I sure hope such a story doesn’t get started.”
Mr. Parker fingered the black mask. “All the same, Sheriff, you can’t just laugh off a thing like this. Even if the November elections aren’t far away—”
“I’m not worried about my job,” the other broke in. “So far as I know there’s no underground organization in this county. All this mask proves is that Clem Davis may be the man who set the Preston fire.”
The officer turned to leave the stable. Before he could reach the exit, the double doors slowly opened. A woman, who carried a lighted lantern, peered inside.
“Who’s there?” she called in a loud voice.
“Sheriff Daniels, ma’am,” the officer answered. “You needn’t be afraid.”
“Who said anything about bein’ afraid?” the woman belligerently retorted.
Coming into the stable, she gazed with undisguised suspicion from one person to another. She was noticeably thin, slightly stooped and there was a hard set to her jaw.
“You’re Mrs. Davis?” the sheriff inquired, and as she nodded, he asked: “Clem around here?”