It was now known that the roughs of Manitou,
led by the big river-driver, were about to start on a raid upon Lebanon
and upon Ingolby at the very moment the horseshoe did its work. All
night there were groups of men waiting outside Ingolby's house. They
were of all classes-carters, railway workers, bartenders, lawyers,
engineers, bankers, accountants, merchants, ranchmen, carpenters,
insurance agents, manufacturers, millers, horse-dealers, and so on.
Some prayed for Ingolby's life, others swore viciously; and those who
swore had no contempt for those who prayed, while those who prayed were
tolerant of those who swore. It was a union of incongruous elements.
Men who had nothing in common were one in the spirit of faction; and all
were determined that the Orangeman, whose funeral was fixed for this
memorable Saturday, should be carried safely to his grave. Civic pride
had almost become civic fanaticism in Lebanon. One of the men beaten by
Ingolby in the recent struggle for control of the railways said to the
others shivering in the grey dawn: "They were bound to get him in the
back. They're dagos, the lot of 'em. Skunks are skunks, even when you
skin 'em.
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