Carson moved past him towards the front door.
“Where you goin'?” Pole asked, sharply.
“I want to see how the land lies on the outside,” answered Carson.
“You'll be crazy if you go,” said Blackburn, and the others pressed round Dwight and anxiously joined in the protest.
“No, I must go,” Dwight firmly persisted. “We ought to find out exactly what that crowd thinks to-night, so we'll know what to depend on. If they think a lynching took place they will go home satisfied; if not, as Pole says, they may suspect us, and the most godless riot that ever blackened human history may take place here in this town.”
“He's right,” declared the mountaineer. “Somebody ought to go. I really think I'm the man, by rights, an'—”
“No, I want to satisfy myself,” was Dwight's ultimatum. “Stay here till I come back.”
Blackburn accompanied him to the front door, cautiously looked out, and then let him pass through.
“Knock when you get back—no, here, take the key to the back door and let yourself in. So far, so good, my boy, but this is absolutely the most ticklish job we ever tackled. But I'm with you. I glory in your spunk.”
There was a swelling murmuring, like the onward sweep of a storm from the direction of the courthouse. Voices growing louder and increasing in volume reached their ears.