The Fire in the Flint by Walter White

It was the next night. In the gully on the road leading from that one out of Central City which went northward, there was being held a hastily called meeting of Central City Klan, Knights of the Ku Klux Klan, Realm of Georgia. Before, there had been three hundred robed figures. Tonight, three months later, the popularity of organized intolerance was attested to by the presence of fully five hundred. What had happened to Nancy Ware had acted as a powerful incentive to the recruiting of new converts. It was mighty fine to have a strong and powerful organization to shut mouths of those who talked too much about the nighttime deeds of loyal Klansmen. And, by gum, if you're doing anything you don't want known or stopped, you'd better be on the inside.

A figure whose arms waved excitedly as he talked was haranguing the crowd, which paid close attention to him. Had Tom Tracy been there, he would certainly have recognized the voice of the speaker. Ed Stewart's wife, had she been there, would also have recognized it and dragged the speaker home by force had he resisted.