The Sins of the Father: A Romance of the South. Thomas Dixon

doubt."

      "His little mother likes me, too. I can pick her up in my arms and carry her across the room. You wouldn't think I'm so strong, would you?"

      "Yes – I would," he answered slowly, studying her with a look of increasing wonder at her audacity.

      "You're not mad at me for being there, are you? You can't be – mammy wants me so" – she paused – "Lordy, I forgot the letter!"

      She drew from her bosom a note from his wife. He looked curiously at a smudge where it was sealed and, glancing at the girl who was busy with the tray, opened and read:

      "I have just received a message from MacArthur's daughter that your life is to be imperilled to-night by a dangerous raid. Remember your helpless wife and baby. Surely there are trusted men who can do such work. You have often told me that no wise general ever risks his precious life on the firing line. You are a soldier, and know this. Please, dearest, do not go. Baby and little mother both beg of you!"

      Norton looked at Cleo again curiously. He was sure that the seal of this note had been broken and its message read by her.

      "Do you know what's in this note, Cleo?" he asked sharply.

      "No, sir!" was the quick answer.

      He studied her again closely. She was on guard now. Every nerve alert, every faculty under perfect control. He was morally sure she was lying and yet it could only be idle curiosity or jealous interest in his affairs that prompted the act. That she should be an emissary of the Governor was absurd.

      "It's not bad news, I hope?" she asked with an eagerness that was just a little too eager. The man caught the false note and frowned.

      "No," he answered carelessly. "It's of no importance." He picked up a pad and wrote a hurried answer:

      "Don't worry a moment, dear. I am not in the slightest danger. I know a soldier's duty and I'll not forget it. Sleep soundly, little mother and baby mine!"

      He folded the sheet of paper and handed it to her without sealing it. She was watching him keenly. His deep, serious eyes no longer saw her. His body was there, but the soul was gone. The girl had never seen him in this mood. She was frightened. His life was in danger. She knew it now by an unerring instinct. She would watch the jail and see what happened. She might do something to win his friendship, and then – the rest would be easy. Her hand trembled as she took the note.

      "Give this to Mrs. Norton at once," he said, "and tell her you found me well and happy in my work."

      "Yes, sir," the soft voice answered mechanically as she picked up the tray and left the room watching him furtively.

      CHAPTER V

      THE RESCUE

      Cleo hurried to the house, delivered the message, rocked the baby to sleep and quietly slipped through the lawn into the street and back to the jail.

      A single guard kept watch at the door. She saw him by a flash of moonlight and then passed so close she could have touched the long old-fashioned musket he carried loosely across his shoulder.

      The cat-like tread left no echo and she took her stand in the underbrush that had pushed its way closer and closer until its branches touched the rear walls of the jail. For two hours she stood amid the shadows, her keen young ears listening and her piercing eyes watching. Again and again she counted the steps the sentinel made as he walked back and forth in front of the entrance to the jail.

      She knew from the sound that he passed the corner of the building for three steps in full view from her position, could she but see him through the darkness. Twice she had caught a glimpse of his stupid face as the moon flashed a moment of light through a rift of clouds.

      "The Lord help that idiot," she muttered, "if the major's men want to pass him to-night!"

      She turned with a sharp start. The bushes softly parted behind her and a stealthy step drew near. Her heart stood still. She was afraid to breathe. They wouldn't hurt her if they only knew she was the major's friend. But if they found and recognized her as old Peeler's half-breed daughter, they might kill her on the spot as a spy.

      She hadn't thought of this terrible possibility before. It was too late now to think. To run meant almost certain death. She flattened her figure against the wall of the jail and drew the underbrush close completely covering her form.

      She stood motionless and as near breathless as possible until the two men who were approaching a step at a time had passed. At the corner of the jail they stopped within three feet of her. She could hear every word of their conference.

      "Now, Mac, do as I tell you," a voice whispered. "Jump on him from behind as he passes the corner and get him in the gills."

      "I understand."

      "Choke him stiff until I get something in his mouth."

      "Ah, it's too easy. I'd like a little excitement."

      "We'll get it before morning – "

      "Sh! what's that?"

      "I didn't hear anything!"

      "Something moved."

      A bush had slipped from Cleo's hand. She gripped the others with desperation. Ten minutes passed amid a death-like silence. A hundred times she imagined the hand of one of these men feeling for her throat. At last she drew a deep breath.

      The men began to move step by step toward the doomed sentinel. They were standing beside the front corner of the jail now waiting panther-like for their prey. They allowed him to pass twice. He stopped at the end of his beat, blew his nose and spoke to himself:

      "God, what a lonely night!"

      The girl heard him turn, his feet measure three steps on his return and stop with a dull thud. She couldn't see, but she could feel through the darkness the grip of those terrible fingers on his throat. The only sound made was the dull thud of his body on the wet ground.

      In two minutes they had carried him into the shadows of a big china tree in the rear and tied him to the trunk. She could hear their sharp order:

      "Break those cords now or dare to open your mouth and, no matter what happens, we'll kill you first – just for luck."

      In ten minutes they had reported the success of their work to their comrades who were waiting and the men who had been picked for their dangerous task surrounded the jail and slowly took up their appointed places in the shadows.

      The attacking group stopped for their final instructions not five feet from the girl's position. A flash of moonlight and she saw them – six grim white and scarlet figures wearing spiked helmets from which fell a cloth mask to their shoulders. Their big revolvers were buckled on the outside of their disguises and each man's hand rested on the handle.

      One of them quietly slipped his robe from his shoulders, removed his helmet, put on the sentinel's coat and cap, seized his musket and walked to the door of the jail.

      She heard him drop the butt of the gun on the flagstone at the steps and call:

      "Hello, jailer!"

      Some one stirred inside. It was not yet one o'clock and the jailer who had been to a drinking bout with the soldiers had not gone to bed. In his shirt sleeves he thrust his head out the door:

      "Who is it?"

      "The guard, sir."

      "Well, what the devil do you want?"

      "Can't ye gimme a drink of somethin'? I'm soaked through and I've caught cold – "

      "All right, in a minute," was the gruff reply.

      The girl could hear the soft tread of the shrouded figures closing in on the front door. A moment more and it opened. The voice inside said:

      "Here you are!"

      The words had scarcely passed his lips, and there was another dull crash. A dozen masked Clansmen hurled themselves into the doorway and rushed over the prostrate form of the half-drunken jailer. He was too frightened to call for help. He lay with his face downward, begging for his life.

      It