Outside of Plain Dealing, La., little dun dogs peered through slack, seamy, deep-set eyes, sniffed eagerly. Five hundred and two armed men followed. They shook trees, stuck sticks up hollow logsĀ suddenly licked parched lips as the hounds began to whimper. They were looking for Judge Powell, Negro. Fool, he had slain Sheriff Dooley. Now they had found him. He whimpered as the hounds leapt about him, yelped. He cowered in the cotton field. Guns spat. He shrieked, groaned, died. Little dun dogs closed in, sniffed eagerly. At Wytheville, Va., last week gentry stormed the county jail; shot Raymond...
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