"I guess the fools have opened up, Steele," I said. His response was an
angry grunt. It was just as well, I concluded, that things had begun to
stir. Steele needed to be roused.
Suddenly a single sharp yell pealed out. Following it came a huge flare
of light, a sheet of flame in which a great cloud of smoke or dust shot
up. Then, with accompanying darkness, burst a low, deep, thunderous
boom. The lights of the house went out, then came a crash. Points of
light flashed in a half-circle and the reports of guns blended with the
yells of furious men, and all these were swallowed up in the roar of a
mob.
Another and a heavier explosion momentarily lightened the darkness and
then rent the air. It was succeeded by a continuous volley and a steady
sound that, though composed of yells, screams, cheers, was not anything
but a hideous roar of hate. It kept up long after there could have been
any possibility of life under the ruins of that house. It was more than
hate of Steele. All that was wild and lawless and violent hurled this
deed at the Ranger Service.
Such events had happened before in Texas and other states; but,
strangely, they never happened more than once in one locality.
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