Unless the man guilty of the shocking crime was found and delivered up for punishment, the inevitable would happen.
"We'll get the right man," said the voice of universal fury, "if we have to cut the heart out of every one of Manuel Crust's gang." The women were the worst.

They fought like wildcats to reach the cabins occupied by the known followers of Manuel Crust.

With knives and axes and burn-ing faggots they tried again and again to force their way through the stubborn wall of men that had been raised against them.
As for Manuel Crust and his little group of radicals, they had vanished.
They had mingled with the mob at the outset.

There were many who recalled seeing this one and that one, remembered speaking to him, remembered hearing him curse the ravisher.

But as their own names began to run from lip to lip, they silently, swiftly disappeared.
Dawn found the camp awake, but grimly silent.