"On the same road?"

"De same road. Ye can't miss his place.

Dey's er pack erbout ten hounds in de yard on de lef' han' side er de road—”

"Thank you," the boy breathed.

He limped his way in mad haste to the stable, saddled his pony, mounted and called his father. He told in quick tones the fateful meeting of the Klan, their deadly purpose toward Craig, his informing Bemis, the telegram for troops and his mission to Logan.

Old Nathan lifted his shoulders with pride.

"You're a brave lad, my son. Do your level best now. I'll stay and lead the troops to Inwood-God be with you!"

The boy touched the pony with his heels and he leaped away in a gallop. He held him in rein until he cleared the streets and struck the long stretch of county road. And then he leaned low on the sleek young neck and urged him to the top of his speed.

He set his teeth and stroked the thick mane.

"They say you're the fastest pony in the county—now show me-now-show-me!"

The pony answered the nervous cry of his little master with quick intelligence. He knew that he was being put to the test. He knew by a subtle instinct that something big and vital had gone wrong with those who loved him. Every ounce of strength in his tense young muscles answered the call to duty.

The boy saw a cross roads a quarter of a mile ahead and tried to decide the right way. He drew rein and breathed a prayer:

"God show me the way!"

The pony drew to the left and he accepted the sign in answer. Again he pressed his heels. The little horse

laid his slender ears back and only a cloud of dust marked his swift flight. As the swirling cloud flashed the turn of the road near Inwood, a Klan picket in full disguise rode into the open way and lifted his hand in a command to halt.

The boy drew in the pony to a trot and continued to approach the picket until nearly abreast as if to receive his orders. As his horse's head approached the shrouded figure, the boy suddenly swung low on his neck and dug his heel into his side. The pony leaped forward and had passed in a flash before the astonished Klansman could wheel his horse in pursuit. For a mile the race was even. And then the fresh horse of the picket began to gain. Not much, but a little. Gradually the shrouded figure got within pistol range.

He waved his arm and shouted:

"Halt!"

The only answer was a new spurt of desperate speed and the crouching still lower of the little figure wrapped in dust.

The pursuer halted, took deliberate aim and fired twice. At the second shot a spasm of pain gripped the boy's face and his right arm dropped for a minute. With a desperate effort he held the reins and urged the pony onward. He glanced to see if his pursuer was following and saw him turn back to his post.

He drew the reins and let his little foaming horse rest in the woods. He took off his coat and bound a handkerchief over the wound spurting blood from his arm. He tied it with his teeth, put his coat on, mounted and rode on again at full speed.

Two miles further his horse slowed down to a dog trot and stopped. The boy lifted his head in a dazed way and the road became blurred. With the last ounce of his

strength he pulled himself together, saw the house on the left and heard the hounds barking. He drew himself erect and called to the pony:

"Go on now, sir!"

He broke into a gallop and in a moment stood before the gate with the hounds barking their salutes.

Logan saw the foam-flecked horse and hurried to answer the summons. In quick gasps Sammy told his story.

His last words were pitiful in their pleading:

"For God's sake, get some men and go to Inwood. They're going to kill Mr. Craig!"

He reeled in the saddle and would have fallen had not the strong arm of the countryman caught him. Logan lifted him to the ground, saw the blood-soaked arm and knew what had happened. He drew a flask from his pocket and pressed it to Sammy's lips. He swallowed, coughed, choked, spluttered-rallied at last and smiled faintly his thanks.

Logan patted his head.

"All right now?"

"Sure. I'm ready to ride with you," he faltered.

Logan saddled a horse and lifted the boy again into his saddle. He gave him a cup of cold water from his canteen and asked:

"Right-Sammy?" The boy nodded.

"Good boy," Logan encouraged. "Go down that road now and ask every man you see to meet me at the blacksmith shop this side of Inwood. They're all with us. I'll go the other way. And, boy, you keep stiff in that saddle and ride like hell-we ain't got no time to lose!"

Sammy dug his heels against his pony and dashed down the road. Logan wheeled his horse in the opposite direction.

T

CHAPTER XXXIV

THE RIDERS

WO lines of armed horsemen were rapidly forming in the forest of Inwood and at the rendezvous appointed by Logan. Wilkes had instructed the Klan pickets to allow Craig to pass in without molestation. The well-known horse on which he rode was spotted a half mile in the distance. The picket withdrew into the bushes and he passed without suspecting the ambush.

On a slight rising ground in a little valley between two wooded hills Anderson sat his horse waiting the arrival of Wilkes. The lawyer had gone on a mysterious errand that annoyed the Sheriff. Delays in such a crisis were always dangerous.

The men were ranging themselves in a long double curved line. They were ready at the signal to gallop two abreast in any direction ordered. In groups of two, threes and fours the new arrivals, in full disguise for horse and man, dashed into the valley and took their places in line. Anderson watched the growing army of cavalry with pride mingled with uneasiness. It was a frolic he would have avoided if possible. At the last moment he would have called it off but for Wilkes' peremptory orders. The men were in high spirits. It was the first raid on which they had been called since the crash that came with Hawkins' death. A murmur of excited whispers ran along the ranks.

"What'ell's it all about?" was the eager question asked by each new group as they wheeled into position.

"Nobody knows—"

"But we're in for some fun !"

"You bet!"

Anderson looked at his watch and scowled with impatience as Wilkes galloped up accompanied by a mysterious figure who rode his horse awkwardly. The Sheriff glanced at the awkward rider and wondered if this forlorn recruit was the cause of the delay.

"Is my special guard ready?" Wilkes inquired.

"Yes. They're standing in the shadows on the right of the main line-"

"Good."

"But I'd like to know," Anderson grumbled, “what in hell they're wearing those black hoods for to-nightis it your orders?”

"Of course not," Wilkes protested. "Just a fool notion of Lowery's."

"I thought so. And I'd like to know what was fomentin' in the back of his ugly skull when he handed out those hoods—"

"Don't worry over details, Anderson," Wilkes muttered. "All you've got to do is to circle Inwood and prevent any disturbance while I conduct the council. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready forty minutes, and your delay's not to my liking-I'll tell you that—"

"All right," Wilkes ordered briskly. "Swing your men out on the main roads now. Keep your intersecting lines in hailing distance-so close that a rat can't get through. I'll do the rest.”

He signaled to his companion and the two rode into the shadows on the right. In a moment he returned at the head of his squadron, twenty black-hooded riders, and rode straight for Inwood.