desire it," she answered, firmly holding him with her eyes dilated under the tension of her emotion. He turned from her gaze, the cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.

"But, Claudia, my dear, I'm not a member of the Klan." She dropped his hand, sprang to her feet, and looked at him a moment.

"You're a clumsy liar-"

"I swear I'm telling you the truth," he cried, attempting to regain her hand.

She turned from him with contempt. He was a greater coward than she had suspected.

"But why should you ask such a thing of me?" he stammered.

"You know why."

"I haven't the remotest idea."

"You know that this man is guilty of the murder of my father."

"If the Government of the United States with its army and navy and its millions cannot find him-am I a coward because I tell you that I do not know his name?" "Yes."

"In God's name, why?" he pleaded.

"Becaus you are a member of the Klan."

"Upon my soul and honor I swear that I am not!" "Have you either soul or honor?"

"I won't quarrel with you, dear; you are overwrought and crushed by this tragedy. You don't mean what you say."

The girl's somber eyes searched Wilkes' and he shifted his heavy body.

"You have told me again and again that John Craig was responsible for my father's death-"

"I say it again—”

"The Attorney-General has just said that only the Chief of the Klan could have ordered such an act- 99

"If done by the Klan, yes.”

"And yet you say you do not know who the Chief is?" "I repeat that I do not."

"When elected District Attorney, will you place John Craig on trial for this murder?"

Wilkes' eyes flashed in a moment's hesitation and then he answered quickly:

"If you ask it."

A frown clouded her brow. She studied him with a new, puzzled look.

"You will not do your duty as an officer of the law unless by special request?"

"In this case it will be useless, unless the evidence is overwhelming "

"Why?" she quickly demanded.

"Because the jury will be composed of Klansmen. Unless the evidence is so clear that a judge would be justified in ordering a verdict of conviction, it would be a waste of time."

"But you will place him on trial if I demand it?" "Certainly."

"I demand it," she cried.

A smile touched the corners of Wilkes' mouth as he grasped her hand and pledged his word. He had seen in a flash the way to strike his enemy a mortal blow-even over the head of a hostile jury.

C

ship.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE CLOAK OF CRIME

RAIG cherished few illusions as to the outcome of the election. He awaited with grim determination the coming of Wilkes into the District Attorney

He made one appeal in a public letter addressed to the voters of the district. That its effects would be much he hardly dared to hope. He felt it a duty. He did it. He boldly warned them against the folly of placing the enforcement of law in the hands of a leader of the lawless.

The weakness of his appeal lay in the fact that Wilkes' opponent was running on the Radical ticket headed by Blackmar as the candidate for Governor. He knew that the lawyer opposing Wilkes was a better man for prosecuting attorney, but he had been named by the wrong party, the party of Blackmar.

He did not mince matters in his attack on Blackmar. He asked the people to split their ticket, elect the Klan candidate for Governor, but defeat Wilkes in their own district.

Blackmar was on the stump in a whirlwind campaign for the Governorship. His eloquence drew enormous crowds. In the main these crowds were composed of as many of his enemies as his friends. On the question of racial equality he was already committed beyond retraction. He sought to break the force of white opposition to his position by frankly admitting that his principles were the expression of the true theory of democracy rather

than the announcement of a possible program of action. He conceded that as a practical question the equality of the races could not be realized for a century—until the negro had been trained for a hundred years.

His compromise was coldly received. It chilled the enthusiasm of the negroes and their radical leaders. It made no friends among the whites. It was received by them in fact, with silent contempt.

For the first time in his life of political adventure, the old soldier of fortune in this campaign struck a solid wall. He had never before realized how deep and impassible the gulf between the theory and practice of democracy. He quoted the Declaration of Independence on the equality of man until he became hoarse. His white hearers merely glanced at the dark cloud of negro voters and scowled. He was confronted by a condition that outweighed all theories.

The strength of the Klan lay precisely in this threat of the negro vote. No matter who had reorganized the order, their candidates stood for white supremacy—an issue which paralyzed all sane discussion of political issues. It was useless to proclaim a program of a hundred years of education for the negro so long as he held a ballot in his hand, and had the power to use it.

People refused to consider other questions of any importance. Thousands of thoughtful men in every quarter of the state had read the story of Hawkins' murder with a shudder. That it had been done by a man in Klan disguise was a certainty. That such crimes would be repeated if the Klan triumphed in the election was another certainty. They had their choice between a negroid government without the Klan or a white government with it. They faced the continuance of Klan terrorism with forebodings. But it was the lesser of two evils. The Klan

had forced the candidate of the Conservative party to work with them. Decent men made up their minds to hold their noses and vote the white ticket.

Only in the circuit in which Wilkes ran for District Attorney was there any defection. Craig's letter had rallied a large vote against Wilkes. It would take a landslide to carry him in.

In the final days of the campaign Blackmar realized the overwhelming tide against him. His final speeches were models of fiery eloquence. His bitterest foes gave him credit for genius as an orator and leader of a forlorn hope. Only a miracle could save him. And with flashing prophetic eye he seemed to await this miracle with an assurance that was surprising. His good spirits were unfailing. His wit, his repartee, his onslaughts on his opponent grew more and more daring and convincing to the occasional impartial hearer. The only impartial hearers, however, who ever listened, were travelers from northern states unfamiliar with the real issue behind the shouting.

But the thing which gave Blackmar his poise, the thing which drove him to the last day of the fevered campaign with spirit undaunted, was the consciousness of his safety from the clutches of the law. The cloak beneath which he concealed a cowardly murder, the murder of his Chief in his own house, was without a flaw. Its folds were ample. Its scarlet symbol had proven magic.

In his former denunciation of a secret oathbound order which used a disguise he had spoken as a theorist. Now he knew its tremendous power. He realized at last that such a disguise was an instrument by which the whole system of civilized government could be destroyed. An instrument so terrible that with it an elemental savage could work his will with impunity-in utter defiance of