I hear you talk. You're a man, ain't yer? How kin ye do such a thing to a helpless girl—”

The black hood was silent until the limp form collapsed on the floor.

"Don't, Ma," the daughter pleaded. "Don't take on so. It won't do any good-”

on

"You bet it won't," the hooded figure snapped. "Come

He seized the girl's hand and started to the door. With sudden energy she tore herself from his grasp, backed again into a corner, seized a big conch shell from the rickety what-not and hurled it at her assailant's head. He dodged in time and plunged after her. He caught her slight figure in his arms and held her helpless. She screamed. He put his hand over her mouth. With sudden fierce strength she tore the black hood from his face.

The mother was on her feet now staring at the ugly intruder in rage and horror.

"Berry Lowery, you dirty dog!" she panted. "I'll get even with you for this. I told ye to keep away from my girl and this is how you get back at me—”

The ugly face laughed and the cruel hands twisted the slender wrists.

"Turned me down fer the putty boy-did ye? Well, I'm goin' to have a little chat with you to-night and then send you out o' the county. Yer putty boy kin foller ye. We don't need ye in this town-"

The girl had ceased to struggle and began to sob. Lowery dragged her to her mother and said in threatening tones:

"You've seen my face to-night, old woman. It's a pity. If you give my name to a livin' soul-I'll kill you the next night-so long—”

He dragged his victim to the door. She seized the frame and looked back at her mother whose head had sunk in a fit of hopeless tears. She gripped the tough's arm and pleaded:

"Don't send me away-for God's sake. I've never been away from home. I don't know anybody but my motherI'll die-I'll die "

Lowery made no reply. He slipped the black hood over his head, dragged the girl through the door, threw her across his saddle and mounted behind her. The hooded figures followed, and galloped swiftly out of town.

CHAPTER XVI

A WARNING

OWERY'S exploit was the sensation of the hour by noon the next day. The terror-stricken mother had

not revealed the name of her assailant, but her screams had been heard and the neighbors saw six blackhooded horsemen mount and gallop away.

And her daughter had been kidnaped. The fact could not be concealed. She was frantic with grief and told at last the details of the ugly event. A wave of indignation swept the county. A few decent men in the new order began an investigation. Anderson furiously denied any knowledge of the raid. Wilkes aided in the search. Not a trace of the leader could be found. Both Wilkes and Anderson had a pretty clear idea on the subject. But they ventured no opinions. Both of them were afraid of Lowery.

The two incidents, the fatal raid on old Rogers and the kidnaping of an eighteen-year-old girl from a lighted street of the town, produced a state of terror and uncertainty that bordered on anarchy. Neighbor began to look at neighbor with ugly suspicion. What sort of deviltry would break out next, and on whom, could not be guessed. Men who had spent their lives in the town felt the foundations of society sinking beneath their feet. Every man who knew the use of a gun got one and kept it loaded.

Yet a single loaded gun was a feeble instrument with which to face a horde of armed horsemen disguised by

black hoods and moving under the cover of darkness. They struck without warning. It was impossible to prepare an adequate defense. A single gun might kill or wound one but they got the man they were after. They spared neither man nor woman. They used tar and feathers, the knotted lash, the knife, the revolver with equal recklessness-when they pleased and on whom they pleased. And no one could identify them.

The black hood was their symbol. Even Wilkes was not quite sure of his own safety. Certainly, he had no intention of attacking Lowery. The tough's influence among the rank and file of the local Den had steadily increased since his first triumph over discipline.

The morning after the kidnaping, Craig walked into Wilkes' law office, brushed by his clerks and entered the inner room where his enemy was at work.

Wilkes sprang to his feet, his hand on the revolver in his hip pocket.

"You needn't be alarmed; I'm not ready for you yet," said Craig, his eyes holding Wilkes' with a steady light. "Well, I'm ready for you," was the quick retort. "What do you want?”

"Merely to give you a little advice this morning." "When I need your advice, I'll let you know." Craig closed the door.

"Your men are covering the name of the Ku Klux Klan with infamy," Craig went on evenly. "If you have even the rudiments of common sense you must know that within a few weeks these fools will be beyond control-" "I haven't felt the need of your help as yet," interrupted Wilkes.

"No, but I'm generous. I volunteer to anticipate the needs of your weak mind—”

"John Craig," Wilkes broke in angrily, "if you have

anything really to say to me, say it, and get out

"I will say it, my boy, and-don't-you-forget Craig answered with quiet emphasis. "I'm on the tr of the men who are terrorizing this county. I'll come with them some night and there'll be business for the o oner next day. Permit another outrage and I'll find y men if I drag the bottom of hell for them, and wher do, I'll hang them in front of your house. If I fail find them I'll-hold-you-personally-responsible!"

Before Wilkes could reply he turned on his h slammed the door and left.