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At every curve of the village street, and beyond town, at every curve of the country road, the running youth peered forward in hope of a glimpse of the violent melodrama. The road unfolded in yellow curves of summer dust.

Presently a fear began to mount in Abner's throat, which crystalized into an anguished certainty, that he had missed the lynchers altogether. He had missed their trail! They had turned off somewhere into the woods, for a stout tree, no doubt!

He now ran on miserably and hopelessly, but unable to stop running owing to the possibility that he might find them, that he might get to them. In his heart he damned his lingering with Nessie. The brief remorse he had suffered in her presence had vanished as completely as the reflection in a mirror when it is turned another way. He had missed the lynching! He could have wept!

As he mounted the long slope that led up to Squire Meredith's farm, running up grade became impossible. He slowed down to a heavy perspiring trot. He gasped for breath in the hot sunshine, but he could not walk. He could not endure the slow movement of a walk. Sweat stung his eyes. He thought expletives in mental sighs of frustration, "Oh damn—damn—damn that girl—" Then he was forced to give up even his poor trot. His legs were lead. The heat closed around him like a blanket.

He blinked up at the sun in despair when a swinging object on the right-hand side of the road transfixed his attention.

At the end of its rope the object turned slowly around until it faced the teamster standing frozen on the hot hillside. It turned on until it displayed three quarters of its back, then, gradually, it stopped, hung for a moment, and began slowly turning back again.

This slow passive exhibition of itself was the most gruesome thing Abner had ever imagined. It looked somehow as if it were dully summing up the whole matter—life had come to this. This was why he had been born, had laboured,