_Tiara Mystifies Us._
Tiara was sitting on the front porch of her home gazing pensively out
upon the blue hills that fringed the distant horizon.
On the day previous she had been able to pronounce the wounded Earl well
and he had gone forth solemnly pledged to no longer rebel against the
overwhelming desire of the Negro race to pursue steadily the policy of
moral suasion, as exemplified by Ensal.
That morning Eunice had taken her departure and had for some reason or
other refused to let Tiara know her destination.
Tiara missed Eunice, but there was a countervailing joy in her soul.
Eunice gone, her period of exile was over, and Ensal--O, well, well; he
could call to see her sometimes. That was as much as she would admit to
herself, but there was an enlivening sparkle to those beautiful dark
eyes whenever that individual came before her mind. She was intending
that night to write him a note suggesting that he ought to call and
receive an account of her stewardship in the matter of preserving
Earl's life. That was a non-committal piece of territory on which a
renewal of friendly relations might begin, she felt. The newsboy came
riding along and tossed the afternoon paper upon her porch. She picked
up the paper, opened it and glanced at the various headings. In an
instant her interest in the paper was more than perfunctory.
She saw an account of the murder of Rev. Percy G. Marshall, and of the
besieging of the supposed murderer that was still in progress when the
paper went to press.
At that moment a white man was passing in a buggy. Tiara hailed him,
grasped a hat and was soon in the buggy by his side begging him to speed
her to the city, which the wondering man kindly did.
Directed by Tiara, the man drove to the edge of the crowd of besiegers.
By brave struggling, her hat gone, her long hair down her back, her
dress torn, she made her way to the front of the swaying, surging mass
of frenzied humanity.
"Gentlemen," said she, "Let us stop this frightful slaughter. Suspend
hostilities! Give me a chance and I will bring things out all right. All
I ask is that you respect my prisoner."
Tiara's sweet, strong voice carried conviction and the crowd in silence
awaited her action. Snatching a walking stick from a bystander and
tearing a sleeve from her dress she made a flag of truce and mounted the
steps of the gate.
[Illustration: "Snatching a walking stick from a bystander and tearing a
sleeve from her dress, she made a flag of truce and mounted
the steps of the gate."
(188-189.)]
Through his trumpet Martin shouted, "Flag uv truce held by the lady
won't be shot at, purvided no one else comes with her."
The crowd now awaited with feverish anxiety the outcome of this new turn
of affairs. Tragic as were the surroundings, the great throng found time
to admire the great beauty, the magnificent form, the queenly carriage
of Tiara, as bareheaded and with flag aloft she marched up to the
citadel of the outlaw.
Martin met her at the door, let her in and ran back to the tower to see
that no one took advantage of his absence to attempt to approach the
building. But his precaution was unnecessary. It was a matter of honor
with the great throng and none thought of violating the flag of truce.
Tiara followed Martin to the tower and spoke to him a few words in a
low, earnest voice.
"Woman, is that true? And all this havoc to be laid at my door?"
"My God!" said Martin humbly. "My God," he murmured again. Steadily down
the stairway he walked and flung the door wide open, saying to Tiara,
who followed, "Well, I'm done. They may have me." Tossing his rifle in
midair, he said, "I give up, gentlemen." Taking the white flag he
marched down the sidewalk, stepped outside the gate and stretched forth
his hand for the sheriff to handcuff him. No sooner was he thus fastened
than the mob surged in upon him. A blow from a stick knocked him down.
As he lay upon the ground the muzzle of a pistol was seen protruding
from each of the side pockets of his pants. Leroy Crutcher, whose
testimony had helped to stimulate the mob that lynched Dave Harper, was
again on hand. Eager for a souvenir that would enable him to boast to
the white people as to how he stood by them, he stooped down to snatch
one of the protruding pistols. Martin had the pistols so set in his
pocket that to snatch them would pull the triggers and cause them to
fire. A shot rang out and ploughed into Leroy Crutcher's body and he
fell a corpse.
The crowd swayed back from Gus in superstitious fear, taking him to be a
remarkable personage to be able to keep up a bombardment in his
condition. As no more shots came the mob felt reassured and drew near
the prostrate form of Gus. His eyes looked up into scores of pistols now
leveled at him, and as they rang out their death song Gus Martin smiled
and died.