John Brown's Body

But far eastward on the pike there slowly developed a soft, white haze. It
grew denser and larger. Gradually it rolled nearer. Dimly behind it could
be discerned a darker, moving nucleus that extended far back upon the
road. A heavy tremor began to stir the air--faint manifold sounds, a
waxing, increasing, multitudinous rumor.

The pike ascended a long, slight slope leading west up to the Cross-Roads.
From a thicket of iron-weed at the foot of this slope was thrust the hard,
lean visage of an undersized girl of fourteen. Her fierce eyes examined
the approaching cloud of dust intently. A redness rose under the burnt
yellow skin and colored the wizened cheeks.

They were coming.

She stepped quickly out of the tangle, and darted up the road, running
with the speed of a fleet little terrier, not opening her lips, not
calling out, but holding her two thin hands high above her head. That was
all. But Birnam wood was come to Dunsinane at last, and the messenger
sped. Out of the weeds in the corners of the snake fence, in the upper
part of the rise, silently lifted the heads of men whose sallowness became
a sickish white as the child flew by.

The mob was carefully organized. They had taken their time and had
prepared everything deliberately, knowing that nothing could stop them. No
one had any thought of concealment; it was all as open as the light of
day, all done in the broad sunshine. Nothing had been determined as to
what was to be done at the Cross-Roads more definite than that the place
was to be wiped out. That was comprehensive enough; the details were quite
certain to occur. They were all on foot, marching in fairly regular ranks.
In front walked Mr. Watts, the man Harkless had abhorred in a public
spirit and befriended in private--to-day he was a hero and a leader,
marching to avenge his professional oppressor and personal brother. Cool,
unruffled, and, to outward vision, unarmed, marching the miles in his
brown frock coat and generous linen, his carefully creased trousers neatly
turned up out of the dust, he led the way. On one side of him were the two
Bowlders, on the other was Lige Willetts, Mr. Watts preserving peace
between the two young men with perfect tact and sang-froid.