"An' then he'll lead them, won't he?"
"I don't know! I reckon so—oh, I can't tell!" She faced him for an instant, a look of helpless indecision in her eyes; then she turned again to the window.
"I'll go slip on my coat," he said. "I—I'm cold. I'd better get ready. You see, he may want to—call me out. I wish I had a gun—or something."
She made no answer, and he went into his room. He turned up the lamp, but quickly lowered it again. He found his coat on a chair and put it on. He wondered if he were actually afraid. Surely he had never felt so before; perhaps his mind was not right—his wound and all his mental trouble had affected his nerves, and then a genuine thrill of horror went over him. Might not this be the particular form of punishment Providence had singled out for the murderer of Sally Dawson—might it not be the grewsome, belated answer to her mother's prayer?
Just then Harriet entered the room softly and turned his light down still lower.
"Stay back here," she said, her tone almost a command.
"Why?"
"If they get Toot out, it would be just like him to try to— You—you are not strong enough to get out of their way. Oh, I don't know what to do!" She went back to the window in the next room. He followed her, and stood by her side.
The white figures had dismounted at the jail. They paused at the gate a moment, then filed into the yard and stood at the door. The leader rapped on it loudly.
"Hello in thar, Tarpley Brown, show yorese'f!" he cried.