“Oh, I don't mean they would actually mob you or me or any o' the old klan, but whatever they do will be laid at our door because we've been in the thing so long. The truth is, Jim, you trained them fellers to be what they are; they are jest sparks off of your flint. I reckon if Nape Welborne knowed how I looked at it he'd say I had cold feet, for I've been doin' a sight o' thinkin' lately. I've heard Paul Rundel talk on this line.”
“You say you have! He's a fool.”
“I don't know 'bout that; if he ain't got it down about right, nobody has. I heard him talkin' to a crowd one day at the flour-mill. He ain't afraid o' man nor beast. Everybody knows that. Nape Welborne chipped in once, but Paul settled 'im, an' Nape was ashamed to argue any longer. Paul says we are in an awful fix. He prophesied then that we'd turn ag'in' our own race an' we are a-doin' it. You yourself have made enemies among the very men that used to follow you, an' the Lord only knows whar it will end.”
Hoag stifled a groan and struggled to his feet. His legs felt stiff and heavy from inactivity. He stood staring out into the void above the tree-tops. The rocky fastness immediately around was as still as if the spot were aloof from time and space—so still, indeed, that a pebble of the disintegrating cliff being released by the eternal law of change rattled from summit to base quite audibly. From down the mountain-side came boisterous singing. It was Welborne and his supporters.
“D'you hear that?” Purvynes asked, as, gun under arm, he got ready to walk on with his companion.
“Hear what?” Hoag roused himself as from a confused dream.
“Them young devils!” Purvynes chuckled, as if amused. “They need a good lickin'—them boys do. Can't you hear what they are a-singin'?”
“No, I can't. I wasn't payin' no attention.”
“Why, it's—
“'Jim Hoag's body lies molderin' in the grave.'”