ESPITE the news Pole Baker had brought to town regarding the disposition of the mountaineers to let justice take its formal trend in the case of the negro already arrested, as the day wore on towards its close the whole town took on an air of vague excitement. Men who now lived at Darley, but had been former residents of the country, and were supposed to know the temper and character of the aggrieved people, shook their heads and smiled grimly when the subject of Pete's coming trial was mentioned. “Huh!” said one of these men, who kept a small grocery store on the main street, “that nigger'll never see the door of the court-house.”

And that opinion grew and seemed to saturate the very garment of approaching night. The negroes at work in various ways about the business portion of the town left their posts early, and with no comment to the whites or even to their own kind, they betook themselves to their homes—or elsewhere. The negroes who had held the interrupted meeting at Neb Wynn's house had been all that day less in evidence than any of the others. The attempt to stimulate law and order, to meet the white race on common ground, had been crudely and yet sincerely made. They had done all they could within their restricted limitations; it now behooved them personally to avoid the probable overflow of the coming crisis. Their meeting in secret, they feared, was not understood. The present prisoner, in fact, had to all appearances, at least, been knowingly harbored by them. To explain would be easy enough; convincing an infuriated, race-mad mob of their friendly, helpful intentions would be impossible. Hence it was that long-headed, now silent-tongued, Neb Wynn locked up his domicile, and with his wife and children stole through the darkest streets and alleys to the house of a citizen who had owned his father.

“Marse George,” he said. “I want you ter take me 'n my folks in fer ter-night.”

“All right, Neb,” the white man answered; “we've got plenty of room. Go round to the kitchen and get your suppers. I didn't know it was as bad as that, but it may be well to be on the safe side.”

Just after dark Carson went home to supper. As he drew near the front gate he noticed that the Warren house was lighted both in the upper and lower portions and that a group of persons were standing on the veranda. He noticed the towering form of old Lewis and the bowed, bandanna-clad head of Linda, and with them, evidently offering consolation, stood Helen, the Major, Sanders, and Keith Gordon.

Carson was entering the gate when Keith through the twilight recognized him and signalled him to wait. And leaving the others Keith came over to him.

“I must see you, Carson,” he said, in a voice that had never sounded so grave. “Can we go in? If Mam' Linda sees you she'll be after you. She's terribly upset.”

“Come into the library,” Carson said. “I see it's lighted. We'll not be disturbed there.”

Inside the big, square room, with its simple furnishings and drab tints, Carson sank, weary from his nervous strain and loss of sleep, into an easy-chair and motioned his friend to take another, but Keith, nervously twirling his hat in his hands, continued to stand.

“It's awful, old man, simply awful!” he said. “I've been there since sundown trying to pacify that old man and woman, but what was the use?”

“Then she's afraid—” Carson began.

“Afraid? Good God! how could she help it? The negro preacher and his wife came to her and Lewis and frankly tried to prepare them for the worst. Uncle Lewis is speechless, and Linda is past the tear-shedding stage. Hand in hand the old pair simply pace the floor like goaded brutes with human hearts and souls bound up in them. Then Helen—the poor, dear girl! Isn't this a beautiful homecoming for her? I feel like fighting, and yet there's nothing to hit but empty, heartless air. I don't care if you know it, Carson.” Keith sank into a chair and leaned forward, his eyes glistening with the condensed dew of tense emotion. “I don't deny it. Helen is the only girl I ever cared for. She's treated me very kindly ever since she discovered my feeling, and given me to understand in the sweetest way the utter hopelessness of my case, but I still feel the same. I thought I was growing out of it, but seeing her sorrow to-day has shown me what she is to me—and what she always will be. I'll love her all my life, Carson. She's suffering terribly over this. She loves her old mammy as much as if they were the same flesh and blood. Oh, it was pitiful, simply pitiful! Helen was trying to pacify her just now, and the old woman suddenly laid her hand on her breast and cried out: 'Don't talk ter me, honey child, I nursed bofe you en Pete on dis here breast, an' dat boy's me—my own self, heart en soul, en ef God let's dem men hang 'im ter-night, I'll curse 'Im ter my grave.'”

“Poor old woman!” Carson sighed. “If it has to come to her, it would be better to have it over with. It would have been better if I had stood back last night and let them have their way.”

“Oh no,” protested Keith; “that's Linda's sole comfort. She hardly draws a breath that doesn't utter your name. She still believes that her only hope rests in you. She says you'll yet think of something—that you'll yet do something to prevent the thing. She cries that out every now and then. Oh, Carson, I don't amount to anything, but before God I can truthfully say that I'd give my life to have Linda talk that way about me—before Helen.”

Carson groaned, his tense hands were locked like prongs of steel in front of him, his face was deathly pale. “You wouldn't like any sort of talk or idle compliments if you were bound hand and foot as I am,” he said. “It's mockery. It's vinegar rubbed into my wounds. It's hell!”

He tore himself from his chair and began to stride about the room like a restless tiger in a cage. His walk took him into the hall utterly forgetful of the presence of his friend. There a colored maid came to him and said, “Your mother wants you, sir.”

He stared at the girl blankly for a moment, then he seemed to pull himself together. “Has my mother heard—?”

“No, sir, your father told us not to excite her.”

“All right, I'll go up,” Carson said. “Tell Mr. Gordon, in the library, to wait for me.”

“I was wondering if you had come,” the invalid said, as he bent over her bed, took her hand, and kissed her. “I presume you have been very busy all day over Pete's case?”

“Yes, very busy, mother dear.”

“And is it all right now? Your father tells me the trial is set for to-morrow. Oh, Carson, I'm very proud of you. I heard your speech last night, and it seemed to lift me to the very throne of God. Oh, you are right, you are right! It is our duty to love and sympathize with those poor creatures. They are still children in the cradles of their past slavery. They can't act for themselves. Their crimes are due chiefly to the lack of the guiding hands they once had. Oh, my son, your father is angry with you for spoiling your political chances by such a radical stand, but even if you lose the race by it, I shall be all the prouder of you, for you have shown that you won't sell yourself. I wish I could go to the courthouse to-morrow, but the doctor won't let me. He says I mustn't have another shock like that last night, when I heard that shot, saw you reel, and thought you were killed. Son, are you listening?”

“Why, yes, mother. I—” His mind was really elsewhere. He had dropped her hand, and was standing with furrowed brow and tightly drawn lips in the shadow thrown by the lamp on a table near by and the high posts of the old-fashioned bedstead.

“I thought you seemed to be thinking of something else,” said the invalid, plaintively.

“I really was troubled about leaving Keith downstairs by himself,” Carson said. “Perhaps I'd better run down now, mother.”

“Oh yes, I didn't know he was there. Ask him to supper.”

“All right, mother,” and he left the room with a slow step, finding Gordon on the veranda below fitfully puffing at a cigar as he walked to and fro.

“Helen called me to the fence just now,” Keith said. “She's all broken to pieces. She is relying solely on you now. She sent you a message.”

“Me?”

“Yes, with the tears streaming down her cheeks she simply said, 'Tell Carson that I am praying that he will think of some way to avert this disaster.”

“She said that!” Carson turned and stared through the gathering shadows towards the jail. There was a moment's pause, then he asked, in a tone that was harsh, crisp, and rasping: “Keith, could you get together to-night fifteen men who would stick to me through personal friendship and help me arrive at some decision as to—to what is best?”

“Twenty, Carson—twenty who would risk their lives at a word from you.”

“They might have to sacrifice—”

“That wouldn't make a bit of difference; I know the ones you can depend on. You've got genuine friends, the truest and bravest a man ever had.”

“Then have as many as you can get to meet me at Blackburn's store at nine o'clock. We may accomplish nothing, but I want to talk to them. God knows it is the only chance. No, I can't explain now. There is not a moment to lose. Tell Blackburn to keep the doors shut and let them assemble in the rear as secretly and quietly as possible.”

“All right, Carson. I'll have the men there.”