Part 34 (1/2)

But the fever, the hysteria of these no longer left either reason or decency to them, neither any manner of respect for the sacredness of womanhood; a thing for the most part inherent even under the severest strains ever brought to bear on man to make him lower than the brute--the brute which at its basest never lacks acknowledgment of the claims of s.e.x.

These men had reverted, dropped, declined as only man himself, n.o.blest and lowest of all animals, may do. There was no mercy in them, indeed no comprehension, else the appeal of the outraged horror on the face of Aurora Lane must have driven them back, or have struck them down where they stood.

”You git on out of the way now!” she heard the coa.r.s.e voice of someone say in her face....

She held her arms out across her door only for an instant longer--she never knew by whom it was, or when, that they were swept down, and she herself swept aside, crumpled in a corner of her room.

The mob was in her home; she had no sanctuary! She caught glimpses of dark shoulders, compacted by the narrowness of the little rooms, surging on in and over everything, into every room, testing every crack and crevice. She heard laughs, oaths, obscenity such as she had never dreamed men used--for she knew little of the man animal--heard the rising unison of voices recording a renewed disappointment and chagrin.

”d.a.m.n her! She's got away with him!” called out someone.

”Sure she has--we might of expected it,” rejoined another. ”She always gets by with it somehow--she's pulled the wool over our eyes all her life. She's fooled us now once more.”

”What'll we do, boys?” cried out the falsetto of the tall young man, whose face was not set strong with a man's beard-roots. ”Are we going to let her get away with it like this?”

He made some sort of answer for himself, for there came the crash of broken gla.s.s as he flung some object across the room.

It was enough--it was the cue. ”Smash her up, boys!” cried out another voice. ”Put her out of business now! She's fooled us for the last time.”

They did not find Don Lane, not though they searched this house as they had the jail. So now their anger caught them, resentful, unreasoning, unfeeling, brutal anger....

So they wrecked the little house of Aurora Lane. They tore down the pictures from the walls, the curtains from the windows, broke in the windows themselves. They smashed one piece of furniture against another.

They even tore up the little white bed--at which for twenty years nightly Aurora Lane had kneeled to pray. Someone caught up one of the pillows, laughing loudly. ”Here you are, here's plenty, I reckon! d.a.m.n you! You're lucky we don't give you a ride. Tar'n feathers, 'n a ride on a rail--that's the medicine for such as you.”

The thought of escape, of rescue, of resistance now had pa.s.sed from the mind of Aurora Lane. Frozen, speechless, motionless, she waited, helpless before this blind fury. They had been after Don, and they had not found him. Where was Don? And what would they now do to her? What was that last coa.r.s.e, terrible threat that they had meant?

She caught her torn frock again to her throat as she saw, not a definite movement toward her, but a cessation of movement, a pause, a silence, which seemed more terrible and more ominous than anything yet in all this hour of torment and terror. What would they do now?

They had halted, paused, they stood irresolute, still a pack, a ma.s.s, a mob, not yet resolved into units of thinking, reasoning, human beings; when without warning suddenly, there came something to give them cause for thought.

There was still a rather dense crowd around the gate, on the walk, where some score or more lingered, who either had not entered the house or who had emerged from it. It was against the edge of this ma.s.s that a heavily built man, heavy of face, heavy of hand, cast himself as he now came running up.

It was the sheriff, Dan Cowles. He thrust a revolver barrel into the face of the nearest man, caught another by the shoulder. A halt, a pause, whether of irresolution or of doubt, of indecision or of shame, came like a falling and restraining hand upon all this lately demoniacal a.s.semblage. They did not move. It was as though a net had been sprung above them all.

”Halt!” called out the voice of the sheriff, high and clear. ”What are you doing here?”

”It's the sher'f!” croaked one gray beard farther back. ”G.o.d! what'll he do to us now?”

The feeling of apprehension gave courage to some of the bolder. Two or three sprang upon Cowles from behind and broke him down. He fell, his revolver pulled from his hand. He looked up into faces that he knew.

”Make a move and you'll get it,” said a hoa.r.s.e, croaking voice above him. ”Shut up now and keep quiet, and keep to yourself what you seen.

We're just having a little surprise party, that's all. We're only cleaning up this town.”

But now another figure came running--more than one. Judge Henderson himself had heard the tumult on the streets. It was he who first hurried up to the edge of the crowd.

”Men!” he cried, holding up his hand. ”What are you doing? Disperse, in the name of the law! I command it!”

They had long been used to obeying the voice of Judge Henderson. He was their guide, their counselor, their leader. Some hesitated now.

And then Judge Henderson pushed into the little group, looked over their heads, their shoulders--and saw what ruin had been wrought in Aurora Lane's little home. He saw Aurora standing there, outraged in every fiber, desecrated in her very soul, the ruins of her lost sanctuary lying all about her and on her face the last, last anguish of a woman who has said farewell to all, everything--life, happiness, peace, hope, and trust in G.o.d.