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Newspaper Page Text
THE LYNCHING BEE
By H. S. Watson
(Copyright by W. G. Chapman.)
"Come out, sheriff! Give up your
John Artemus looked out of the
window of his, little home. The mob
had already battered down the flimsy
doors at the entrance to the prison
yard. They stood without, an infu
riated crowd, 'awed temporarily only
by the fear of the unknown. John
Artemus was as much feared as he
was respected. He was the man to
spring a surprise on them. They hes
itated but did not cease yelling.
It was 6 o'clock in the afternoon.
The militia, for which the sheriff had
telephoned upon receipt of news that
the mob was on its way, could not ar
rive until midnight John Artemus
looked out. Two rooms away his lit
tle daughter, accustomed to the cries
of the prisoners and knowing ndthing
what this new outburst portended,
was playing with her dolls. A won
derful collection Dorothy had, rang
ing from life size to the regular ten
cent doll, but all were equally cher
ished by her. She was the heart of
the sheriff's life and had been since
her mother died in giving birth to her.
"Come out!" the mob was howling.
John Artemus unlocked, the door
and stood upon the steps of his house,
confronting the mob boldly.
"Boys," he began, "you want Jim
'Yes,, and we mean tohave him!"
shouted their spokesman. "Beat up
old Mrs. Rogers and stole her $10.
We'll fix him!"
"There has never been a lynching
in Custer county," the sheriff began.
"We'll have one now," said the
The crowd had shrunk back at
first, thinking the sheriff was armed,
hut now, concluding that he was not,
they began to press forward about
hjm.-jTeSCsaw je look of indeci
.gLon on his face. John Artemus was
cowed. A yell arose again. The
sheriff held up his hand. '
"I'll bring him out to you," he said.
"No tricks, mind! The jail's sur
rounded. You'd better play fair or
we'll burn down the place."
"Give me five minutes."
"Well come and get him."
"There'll be no jail-breaking when
rm in charge," retorted Artemus, his
face assuming that look which had
cowed the mob before. "Ill defend it
to the last Be sensible, men! If I
bring your prisoner out to you "
Cowered in Terror
"You can have five minutes, then,"
retorted the leader, taking out his
In his cell the wretched negro,
hearing the glamor and knowing
what it portended, cowered in terror, t
He heard the cries cease and begin
again. Then he-heard footsteps, the
door of his cell snapped open and Ar
"Save me!" "pleaded the wretched