The Ketchum keystone. [volume] (Ketchum, Idaho) 1885-1899, 1893-07-08
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dangerous look in his eyes. If one had
but known his thoughts, he would have
compared him to the dull-red coal left
behind in the hunters campfire, to be1
blown out of the ashes and into the dry
grass by gust of wind and 10 start
confagration which would sweep over
miles of forest
1.-THE law! The law! Curse the law!" he
growled as he slouched on, but halted
few rods away to greet another Of his ilk.
"Who says we must wait for the law?"
"Let's lynch him!''
from the live coal. The flame could be
trampled out by hunters foot now, but
there is 40 one at hand to realize the dan
ger.
"Law! Law! Why the lawyers will
juggle with the law, and he will 60 free
We are the law in the case of such wretch
es as hep
The voice of the third man fans the
fame, and it spreads out among the dry
leaves. A hunters blanket would cover
1t, but it is creeping with fearful rapidity.
Away with the law and bring US
rope! Lynch law is what We want here!"
The flame is darling out thousand
tongues now as it races before the wind
"a wave of fame which lengthens like
serpent stretching itself in the MONDAY
sun, and which lifts its crest higher and
higher as it finds richer fuel. Not one
man now, but 10, 20, so. They do not
scatter to spread the news, but other men
come to them. There is strange mag
netism about crowd-a crowd which
whispers and mutters and menaces. It
draws out the householder, though he has
heard nothing. It draws the vagabond
from his bed in box in the alley, though
he has seen nothing. Men come to it
through street and court and alley-from
chambers above and cellars beneath.
'Move on to the Jail"
There is no shouting and hurrahing,
no pushing and hurrying. Therein lies
the menace. Men speak as they press on,
but their words do not float up to the
open chamber windows. No one has
been selected to lead, but there is leader.
When he issued his first command, all
obeyed without question. A something
in his look and tone put him at the head
of the mob. Turn to the left-turn to
the right-straight on for two blocks, and
the grim old Jail looms up through the
darkness. Half a dozen men detach
themselves to knock at tho jailer's door.
The footsteps of great mob at midnight
make a sound like thunder afar of in the
deep woods. Men do not wake up to
turn over and slumber again, but to grow
pale and peer from their windows.
"The keys and the murderer"
The keys are handed over. If the mob
were shouting and clamoring, tho jailer
might refuse, but it is silent mob. De-
termined men utter no shouts. The half
dozen disappear inside the building.
The man they want is sleeping. He
hears them at the door of his cell and is
wide awake in an instant. He knows
why they have come. His lips part to
make an appeal, but as he looks into
their faces his words are unspoken.
They have come for his life. They utter
no word and the lines of their faces are
hard set. Two by two they march out
past the trembling jailer and into the
street. There is sound from the crowd
not a shout or hurrah, but deep,
vindictive chuckle which reminds you of
the wolf as he overtakes his prey and
feels the taste of warm blood.
Down the street four blocks-turn to
the right-and here is the tree. The
prisoner looks about him as he walks, but
does not speak. If there were shouting
and hurrahing, he might hope. 1t Is .
crowd where men whisper or mutter, and
he is awed to despair. There is little
waiting, a rope is thrown over limb,
the moose passed over his head, and the
men fall back and leave him the pivot of
a small circle. No one speaks to him,
but he realizes what the action means.
Standing there with his arms tied behind
him and his chin on his breast, he is like
statue dimly seen through the midnight
gloom. Perhaps he utters q prayer,
though the blood of his victim still stains
his clothing. There is silence all around
him-silence so deep that one passing
the Outskirts of the crowd q few feet
away would not suspect its presence.
The silence is broken by the footsteps
of marching men. It is a platoon of no.
lice coming up to uphold the majesty of
the law by rescuing the prisoner. Two
hundred men fall out Of the mob and form
across the path. The are no shouts of
de6ance-no weapons drawn. They SIM
ply stand like stone wall.
The gray haired man in charge of the
police has wisdom. It is mob bent on
one single act. 1t is determined but not
angry. Arouse its passions, and who can
say where riot and lawlessness will end7
An arm is raised, and the murderer is
lifted off the ground. Someone murmurs