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The sheriff led the way. Then special deputies surrounded the two chalk-faced prisoners who had been convicted months before.

Near the gallows, in cane chairs, sat many women, some of them with crocheting needles flashing in the sun as the ladies briskly saved time.

The official party reached the hill and final preparations began. Farmers began to cock anxious eyes toward the west, where a faint smudge of black was beginning to spread.

"Looks like rain," said one.

"I sure hope it ain't," answered his ample spouse. "Hit'll plum ruin my new calico dress."

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Thunder (149K) began to rumble menacingly and ended in an ear splitting crack with a tail of lightning. Fantastic yellow flashes lit the dimmed sky. Rain pounded down. Still the crowd stayed.

Then it was over. Two bodies hung sodden from the gallows. The crowd began to break, some heading for home, others gathering in little groups to talk about the hanging, crops and politics. The storm had blown over as quickly as it brewed. Soon there remained only the two on the gallows, and night fell.

That winter a dying man in Chapel Hill confessed that he had committed the murder.

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