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

the keys from his trembling fingers, bind and gag him, and release Norton. The whole thing had been done so quietly not even a dog had barked at the disturbance.

      Again they stopped within a few feet of the trembling figure against the wall. The editor had now put on his disguise and stood in the centre of the group giving his orders as quietly as though he were talking to his printers about the form of his paper.

      "Quick now, Mac," she heard him say, "we've not a moment to lose. I want two pieces of scantling strong enough for a hangman's beam. Push one of them out of the center window of the north end of the Capitol building, the other from the south end. We'll hang the little Scalawag on the south side and the Carpetbagger on the north. We'll give them this grim touch of poetry at the end. Your ropes have ready swinging from these beams. Keep your men on guard there until I come."

      "All right, sir!" came the quick response.

      "My hundred picked men are waiting?"

      "On the turnpike at the first branch – "

      "Good! The Governor is spending the night at Schlitz's place, three miles out. He has been afraid to sleep at home of late, I hear. We'll give the little man and his pal a royal escort for once as they approach the Capitol – expect us within an hour."

      A moment and they were gone. The girl staggered from her cramped position and flew to the house. She couldn't understand it all, but she realized that if the Governor were killed it meant possible ruin for the man she had marked her own.

      A light was still burning in the mother's room. She had been nervous and restless and couldn't sleep. She heard the girl's swift, excited step on the stairway and rushed to the door:

      "What is it? What has happened?"

      Cleo paused for breath and gasped:

      "They've broken the jail open and he's gone with the Ku Klux to kill the Governor!"

      "To kill the Governor?"

      "Yessum. He's got a hundred men waiting out on the turnpike and they're going to hang the Governor from one of the Capitol windows!"

      The wife caught the girl by the shoulders and cried:

      "Who told you this?"

      "Nobody. I saw them. I was passing the jail, heard a noise and went close in the dark. I heard the major give the orders to the men."

      "Oh, my God!" the little mother groaned. "And they are going straight to the Governor's mansion?"

      "No – no – he said the Governor's out at Schlitz's place, spending the night. They're going to kill him, too – "

      "Then there's time to stop them – quick – can you hitch a horse?"

      "Yessum!"

      "Run to the stable, hitch my horse to the buggy and take a note I'll write to my grandfather, old Governor Carteret – you know where his place is – the big red brick house at the edge of town?"

      "Yessum – "

      "His street leads into the turnpike – quick now – the horse and buggy!"

      The strong young body sprang down the steps three and four rounds at a leap and in five minutes the crunch of swift wheels on the gravel walk was heard.

      She sprang up the stairs, took the note from the frail, trembling little hand and bounded out of the house again.

      The clouds had passed and the moon was shining now in silent splendor on the sparkling refreshed trees and shrubbery. The girl was an expert in handling a horse. Old Peeler had at least taught her that. In five more minutes from the time she had left the house she was knocking furiously at the old Governor's door. He was eighty-four, but a man of extraordinary vigor for his age.

      He came to the door alone in his night-dress, candle in hand, scowling at the unseemly interruption of his rest.

      "What is it?" he cried with impatience.

      "A note from Mrs. Norton."

      At the mention of her name the fine old face softened and then his eyes flashed:

      "She is ill?"

      "No, sir – but she wants you to help her."

      He took the note, placed the candle on the old-fashioned mahogany table in his hall, returned to his room for his glasses, adjusted them with deliberation and read its startling message.

      He spoke without looking up:

      "You know the road to Schlitz's house?"

      "Yes, sir, every foot of it."

      "I'll be ready in ten minutes."

      "We've no time to lose – you'd better hurry," the girl said nervously.

      The old man lifted his eyebrows:

      "I will. But an ex-Governor of the state can't rush to meet the present Governor in his shirt-tail – now, can he?"

      Cleo laughed:

      "No, sir."

      The thin, sprightly figure moved quickly in spite of the eighty-four years and in less than ten minutes he was seated beside the girl and they were flying over the turnpike toward the Schlitz place.

      "How long since those men left the jail?" the old Governor asked roughly.

      "About a half-hour, sir."

      "Give your horse the rein – we'll be too late, I'm afraid."

      The lines slacked over the spirited animal's back and he sprang forward as though lashed by the insult to his high breeding.

      The sky was studded now with stars sparkling in the air cleared by the rain, and the moon flooded the white roadway with light. The buggy flew over the beaten track for a mile, and as they suddenly plunged down a hill the old man seized both sides of the canopy top to steady his body as the light rig swayed first one way and then the other.

      "You're going pretty fast," he grumbled.

      "Yes, you said to give him the reins."

      "But I didn't say to throw them on the horse's head, did I?"

      "No, sir," the girl giggled.

      "Pull him in!" he ordered sharply.

      The strong young arms drew the horse suddenly down on his haunches and the old man lurched forward.

      "I didn't say pull him into the buggy," he growled.

      The girl suppressed another laugh. He was certainly a funny old man for all his eighty odd winters. She thought that he must have been a young devil at eighteen.

      "Stop a minute!" he cried sharply. "What's that roaring?"

      Cleo listened:

      "The wind in the trees, I think."

      "Nothing of the sort – isn't this Buffalo creek?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "That's water we hear. The creek's out of banks. The storm has made the ford impassable. They haven't crossed this place yet. We're in time."

      The horse lifted his head and neighed. Another answered from the woods and in a moment a white-masked figure galloped up to the buggy and spoke sharply:

      "You can't cross this ford – turn back."

      "Are you one of Norton's men?" the old man asked angrily.

      "None of your damned business!" was the quick answer.

      "I think it is, sir! I'm Governor Carteret. My age and services to this state entitle me to a hearing to-night. Tell Major Norton I must speak to him immediately – immediately, sir!" His voice rose to a high note of imperious command.

      The horseman hesitated and galloped into the shadows. A moment later a tall shrouded figure on horseback slowly approached.

      "Cut your wheel," the old Governor said to the girl. He stepped from the buggy without assistance. "Now turn round and wait for me." Cleo obeyed, and the venerable statesman with head erect, his white hair and beard shining in the moonlight calmly awaited the approach of the younger man.

      Norton