The rocking-chairs were abandoned; the Lyceum put on its bonnet and shawl, and marshalled down-stairs with the band.
“Ready,” said Amanda.
“Ready,” said Herr Schwartz to his musicians. “Go a leedle easy mit der Allegro, or we bust ‘Fatinitza.’”
The spirited strains were lifted in Siskiyou, and the procession was soon at the jail in excellent order. They came round the corner with the trombone going as well as possible. Two jerking bodies dangled at the end of ropes, above the flare of torches. Amanda and her flock were shrieking.
“So!” exclaimed Herr Schwartz. “Dot was dose Healy boys we haf come to gif serenade.” He signed to stop the music.
“No you don’t,” said two of the masked crowd, closing in with pistols. “You’ll play fer them fellers till you’re told to quit.”
“Cerdainly,” said the philosophical Teuton. “Only dey gif brobably very leedle attention to our Allegro.”
So “Fatinitza” trumpeted on while the two on the ropes twisted, and grew still by-and-by. Then the masked men let the band go home. The Lyceum had scattered and fled long since, and many days passed before it revived again to civic usefulness, nor did its members find comfort from their men. Herr Schwartz gave a parting look at the bodies of the lynched murderers. “My!” said he, “das Ewigweibliche haf draw them apove sure enough.”
Miss Sissons next day was walking and talking off her shock and excitement with her lover. “And oh, Jim,” she concluded, after they had said a good many things, “you hadn’t anything to do with it, had you?” The young man did not reply, and catching a certain expression on his face, she hastily exclaimed: “Never mind! I don’t want to know—ever!”
So James Hornbrook kissed his sweetheart for saying that, and they continued their walk among the pleasant hills.