But the men who had been asked to leave the harness room spread the news throughout the barn.It was repeated from lip to lip.
One by one the guests dropped out of the dance.Groups were formed.By swift degrees the gayety lapsed away.The Virginia reel broke up.The musicians ceased playing, and in the place of the noisy, effervescent revelry of the previous half hour, a subdued murmur filled all the barn, a mingling of whispers, lowered voices, the coming and going of light footsteps, the uneasy shifting of positions, while from behind the closed doors of the harness room came a prolonged, sullen hum of anger and strenuous debate.The dance came to an abrupt end.The guests, unwilling to go as yet, stunned, distressed, stood clumsily about, their eyes vague, their hands swinging at their sides, looking stupidly into each others' faces.A sense of impending calamity, oppressive, foreboding, gloomy, passed through the air overhead in the night, a long shiver of anguish and of terror, mysterious, despairing.
In the harness room, however, the excitement continued unchecked.
One rancher after another delivered himself of a torrent of furious words.There was no order, merely the frenzied outcry of blind fury.One spirit alone was common to all--resistance at whatever cost and to whatever lengths.
Suddenly Osterman leaped to his feet, his bald head gleaming in the lamp-light, his red ears distended, a flood of words filling his great, horizontal slit of a mouth, his comic actor's face flaming.Like the hero of a melodrama, he took stage with a great sweeping gesture.
"ORGANISATION," he shouted, "that must be our watch-word.The curse of the ranchers is that they fritter away their strength.
Now, we must stand together, now, NOW.Here's the crisis, here's the moment.Shall we meet it? I CALL FOR THE LEAGUE.Not next week, not to-morrow, not in the morning, but now, now, now, this very moment, before we go out of that door.Every one of us here to join it, to form the beginnings of a vast organisation, banded together to death, if needs be, for the protection of our rights and homes.Are you ready? Is it now or never? I call for the League."Instantly there was a shout.With an actor's instinct, Osterman had spoken at the precise psychological moment.He carried the others off their feet, glib, dexterous, voluble.Just what was meant by the League the others did not know, but it was something, a vague engine, a machine with which to fight.
Osterman had not done speaking before the room rang with outcries, the crowd of men shouting, for what they did not know.
"The League! The League!"
"Now, to-night, this moment; sign our names before we leave.""He's right.Organisation! The League!""We have a committee at work already," Osterman vociferated."Iam a member, and also Mr.Broderson, Mr.Annixter, and Mr.Harran Derrick.What our aims are we will explain to you later.Let this committee be the nucleus of the League--temporarily, at least.Trust us.We are working for you and with you.Let this committee be merged into the larger committee of the League, and for President of the League"--he paused the fraction of a second--"for President there can be but one name mentioned, one man to whom we all must look as leader--Magnus Derrick."The Governor's name was received with a storm of cheers.The harness room reechoed with shouts of:
"Derrick! Derrick!"
"Magnus for President!"
"Derrick, our natural leader."
"Derrick, Derrick, Derrick for President."Magnus rose to his feet.He made no gesture.Erect as a cavalry officer, tall, thin, commanding, he dominated the crowd in an instant.There was a moment's hush.
"Gentlemen," he said, "if organisation is a good word, moderation is a better one.The matter is too grave for haste.I would suggest that we each and severally return to our respective homes for the night, sleep over what has happened, and convene again to-morrow, when we are calmer and can approach this affair in a more judicious mood.As for the honour with which you would inform me, I must affirm that that, too, is a matter for grave deliberation.This League is but a name as yet.To accept control of an organisation whose principles are not yet fixed is a heavy responsibility.I shrink from it--"But he was allowed to proceed no farther.A storm of protest developed.There were shouts of:
"No, no.The League to-night and Derrick for President.""We have been moderate too long."
"The League first, principles afterward.""We can't wait," declared Osterman."Many of us cannot attend a meeting to-morrow.Our business affairs would prevent it.Now we are all together.I propose a temporary chairman and secretary be named and a ballot be taken.But first the League.
Let us draw up a set of resolutions to stand together, for the defence of our homes, to death, if needs be, and each man present affix his signature thereto."He subsided amidst vigorous applause.The next quarter of an hour was a vague confusion, every one talking at once, conversations going on in low tones in various corners of the room.Ink, pens, and a sheaf of foolscap were brought from the ranch house.A set of resolutions was draughted, having the force of a pledge, organising the League of Defence.Annixter was the first to sign.Others followed, only a few holding back, refusing to join till they had thought the matter over.The roll grew; the paper circulated about the table; each signature was welcomed by a salvo of cheers.At length, it reached Harran Derrick, who signed amid tremendous uproar.He released the pen only to shake a score of hands.
"Now, Magnus Derrick."
"Gentlemen," began the Governor, once more rising, "I beg of you to allow me further consideration.Gentlemen"He was interrupted by renewed shouting.
