“At least he will not be alone.”
It was Constance who spoke. She was thinking of Oakley as struggling single-handed to save his father from the howling, cursing rabble which had rushed up the street ten minutes before.
“No, he won't be alone,” said McClintock, not understanding whom it was she meant. He climbed in beside the doctor.
“You haven't seen him?” the latter asked, as he took the reins from the boy.
“Seen who?”
“Dan Oakley.”
“He's on his way to Chicago. Went this morning.”
“Thank God for that!” and he pulled in his horses to call back to Constance that Oakley had left Antioch. A look of instant relief came into her face. He turned again to McClintock.
“This is a bad business.”
“Yes, we don't want no lynching, but it's lucky Oakley isn't here. I hadn't thought of what he'd do if he was.”