The Sins of the Father. Jr. Thomas Dixon
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 dismounted and led his horse, the rein hanging loosely over his arm.
"Well, Governor Carteret"—the drawling voice was low and quietly determined.
The white-haired figure suddenly stiffened:
"Don't insult me, sir, by talking through a mask—take that thing off your head."
The major bowed and removed his mask.
When the old man spoke again, his voice trembled with emotion, he stepped close and seized Norton's arm:
"My boy, have you gone mad?"
"I think not," was the even answer. The deep brown eyes were holding the older man's gaze with a cold, deadly look. "Were you ever arrested, Governor, by the henchmen of a peanut politician and thrown into a filthy jail without warrant and held without trial at the pleasure of a master?"
"No—by the living God!"
"And if you had been, sir?"
"I'd have killed him as I would a dog—I'd have shot him on sight—but you—you can't do this now, my boy—you carry the life of the people in your hands to-night! You are their chosen leader. The peace and dignity of a great commonwealth are in your care——"
"I am asserting its outraged dignity against a wretch who has basely betrayed it."
"Even so, this is not the way. Think of the consequences to-morrow morning. The President will be forced against his wishes to declare the state in insurrection. The army will be marched back into our borders and martial law proclaimed."
"The state is under martial law—the writ has been suspended."
"But not legally, my boy. I know your provocation has been great—yes, greater than I could have borne in my day. I'll be honest with you, but you've had better discipline, my son. I belong to the old régime and an iron will has been my only law. You must live in the new age under new conditions. You must adjust yourself to these conditions."
"The man who calls himself Governor has betrayed his high trust," Norton broke in with solemn emphasis. "He has forfeited his life. The people whom he has basely sold into bondage will applaud his execution. The Klan to-night is the high court of a sovereign state and his death has been ordered."
"I insist there's a better way. Your Klan is a resistless weapon if properly used. You are a maniac to-night. You are pulling your own house down over your head. The election is but a few weeks off. Use your men as an army to force this election. The ballot is force—physical force. Apply that force. Your men can master that rabble of negroes on election day. Drive them from the polls. They'll run like frightened sheep. Their enfranchisement is a crime against civilization. Every sane man in the North knows this. No matter how violent your methods, an election that returns the intelligent and decent manhood of a state to power against a corrupt, ignorant and vicious mob will be backed at last by the moral sentiment of the world. There's a fiercer vengeance to be meted out to your Scalawag Governor——"
"What do you mean?" the younger man asked.
"Swing the power of your Klan in solid line against the ballot-box at this election, carry the state, elect your Legislature, impeach the Governor, remove him from office, deprive him of citizenship and send him to the grave with the brand of shame on his forehead!"
The leader lifted his somber face, and the older man saw that he was hesitating:
"That's possible—yes——"
The white head moved closer:
"The only rational thing to do, my boy—come, I love you and I love my granddaughter. You've a great career before you. Don't throw your life away to-night in a single act of madness. Listen to an old man whose sands are nearly run"—a trembling arm slipped around his waist.
"I appreciate your coming here to-night, Governor, of course."
"But if I came in vain, why at all?" there were tears in his voice now. "You must do as I say, my son—send those men home! I'll see the Governor to-morrow morning and I pledge you my word of honor that I'll make him revoke that proclamation within an hour and restore the civil rights of the people. None of those arrests are legal and every man must be released."
"He won't do it."
"When he learns from my lips that I saved his dog's life to-night, he'll do it and lick my feet in gratitude. Won't you trust me, boy?"
The pressure of the old man's arm tightened and his keen eyes searched Norton's face. The strong features were convulsed with passion, he turned away and the firm mouth closed with decision:
"All right. I'll take your advice."
The old Governor was very still for a moment and his voice quivered with tenderness as he touched Norton's arm affectionately:
"You're