There was another automobile directly behind it.

Both cars came to a stop at the roadside, while from them leaped more than a dozen men.
These men were armed---each with a horsewhip.

In an instant the invaders found them selves assailed from behind.
Whish! slash! zip! In another instant all was uproar.

Yells of pain from the mob rent the air, for these latest arrivals were laying about them with their horsewhips with an energy worthy of a good cause.
"Here, you, Andy Hartshorn.

Stop that! Don't you hit me! I know you, and I'll have the law on you!" shrieked one of the frightened wretches.
"He who goes to law should have his own hands clean," quoth Farmer Hartshorn, as he dealt the fellow a stinging blow on the legs.
Those of the crowd outside the tent fled in every direction, hotly pursued, and again and again they were stung by the lashes.
Those of the invaders still in the tent were now in a panic to get out and away.