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.