“FBI,” said Solomon again, shining the light on his badge. He let the beam fall upon Blackwood so these Klansmen knew he wasn’t alone.

Their eyes were barely visible through the cutout holes in their hoods by flickering torchlight.

Solomon said, “You ought to be careful with those torches. You don’t want to set the whole woods on fire.”

Or maybe they did. Maybe they had come to burn the hanging tree.

“What kind of badge is that, boy?” said one of the Klansmen.

Solomon smiled through his anger and said, “The kind they hand out with a loaded gun.”

“A white man was hanged here,” said the Klansman.

“I’m here to find out who did it,” said Solomon.

“So’re we!” said another Klansman, jabbing the night air with his torch.

“You’re mistaken,” said Solomon. “And I’m through talking to men in masks.” He ran the beam over their hoods, prompting a few of them to block the light with their robed arms. “Show your faces. Face me like men.”

The Klansmen looked at each other. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.

A gust of night wind set the high branches to waving and made their torch flames flicker and flatten. “How about you show us your gun.”

Solomon knew that if he pulled his weapon, it was guaranteed he’d have to use it. The Colt had a six-round cylinder. Six rounds weren’t enough for ten men.

Solomon said, “How about we talk to Sheriff Ingalls about this.”

The lead Klansman turned his head this way and that, as though looking for him. “Which tree he behind?”

The other Klansmen laughed. They were becoming emboldened. Solomon knew even one gunshot from his Colt meant reams of paperwork and the possibility of this becoming a national incident, a black FBI agent shooting at hooded Klansmen.

“You sure are a brave bunch,” said Solomon, “afraid to show your faces.”

Another swift gust of wind whistled through the trees. This was going to be an incident, that was plain. Now all Solomon had to worry about was not ending up on the wrong end of the hanging branch.

Hugo Blackwood, about whom Solomon had almost forgotten, stepped up just behind Solomon’s flashlight arm. “Agent Solomon, do you trust me?” he whispered.

“No, I don’t,” Solomon whispered back. But he was out of options. “Why?”

“Allow me to hold the electric torch for you.”

Solomon did not want to relinquish his only source of light. “It’s called a flashlight. Why do you want to hold this?”

“I think you can use some help.”

“Okay,” Solomon said, after a moment. He needed both hands for whatever was coming. Solomon handed Blackwood the flashlight.

“What are you talking about there?” asked the lead Klansman, moving up a few steps.

Blackwood said quietly to Solomon, “Now, when I switch off this electric torch, be prepared to run.”

Solomon said, “When you…what?”