But what?
Would Farnham, in his desperation, his anxiety to cover up all evidences of crime, resort to strategy, or to force?
Would he utilize the law, behind which he was now firmly entrenched, or would he rely entirely upon the numbers he controlled to achieve a surer, quicker victory?
That he possessed men in plenty to work his will the defenders of the "Little Yankee" knew from observation.

These were of the kind to whom fighting was a trade.
They must be there yet, hiding somewhere in the chaparral, for none had retreated down the trail.

Backed by the mandates of law, convinced that they had nothing to fear legally, that they were merely executing the decrees of court, they would hardly be likely to hesitate at the committal of any atrocity under such a leader.

But where would they strike, and how?
What could be the purpose of their delay?
the object of their secrecy?
That there must be both purpose and object could not be doubted; yet nothing remained but to watt for their revelation.
An obscuring mist hung over the canyon, stretching from wall to wall.
Beneath the revealing starlight it was like looking down upon a restless, silent expanse of gray sea.

A stray breath of air came sucking up the gorge, causing the many spectral trees outlined against the lighter sky to wave their branches, the leaves rustling as though swept by rain.