the following saturday the rev. john durham preached at a cross roads school house in the woods about ten miles from hambright. he preached every saturday in the year at such a mission station. he was fond of taking charlie with him on these trips. there was an unusually large crowd in attendance, and the preacher was much pleased at this evidence of interest. it had been a hard community to impress. at the close of the services, while the preacher was shaking hands with the people, charlie elbowed his way rapidly among the throng to his side.

“doctor, there’s a nigger man out at the buggy says he wants to see you quick,” he whispered.

“all right, charlie, in a minute.”

“says to come right now. it’s a matter of life and death, and he don’t want to come into the crowd.”

a troubled look flashed over the preacher’s face and he hastily followed the boy, fearing now a sinister meaning to his great crowd.

“preacher,” said the negro looking timidly around, “dc ku klux is gwine ter kill ole uncle rufus lattimore ter night. i come ter see ef you can’t save him. he aint done nuthin’ in god’s work ’cept he would’n’ pull his waggin clear outen de road one day fur dat redheaded allan mcleod ter pass, en he cussed ’im black and blue en tole ’im he gwine git eben wid ’im.”

“how do you know this?”

“i wuz huntin’ in de woods en hear a racket en dim’ er tree. en de ku kluxes had der meetin’ right under de tree. en i hear ev’ry word.”

“who was leading the crowd?”

“dat allan mcleod, en hose norman.”

“where are they going to meet?”

“right at de cross-roads here at de school house at mid-night. dey sont er man atter plenty er licker en dey gwine ter git drunk fust. i was erfeered ter come ter de meetin’ case i see er lot er de boys in de crowd. fur de lawd sake, preacher, do save de ole man. he des es harmless ez er chile. en i’m gwine ter marry his gal, en she des plum crazy. we’se got five men ter fight fur ’im but i spec dey kill ’em all ef you can’t he’p us.”

“are you one of general worth’s negroes?”

“yassir. i run erway up here, ’bout dat free’mens bureau trick dey put me up ter, but i’se larned better sense now.”

“well, sam, you go to uncle rufus and tell him not to be afraid. i’ll stop this business before night.”

the negro stepped into the woods and disappeared.

“charlie, we must hurry,” said the preacher springing in his buggy. he was driving a beautiful bay mare, a gift from a kentucky friend. her sleek glistening skin and big round veins showed her fine blood.

“well, nancy, it’s your life now or a man’s, or maybe a dozen. you must take us to hambright in fifty minutes over these rough hills!” cried the preacher. and he gave her the reins.

the mare bounded forward with a rush that sent four spinning circles of sand and dust from each wheel. she had seldom felt the lines slacken across her beautiful back except in some great emergency. she swung past buggies and wagons without a pause. the people wondered why the preacher was in such a hurry. over long sand stretches of heavy road the mare flew in a cloud of dust. the preacher’s lips were firmly set, and a scowl on his brow. they had made five miles without slackening up.

the mare was now a mass of white foam, her big-veined nostrils wide open and quivering, and her eyes flashing with the fire of proud ancestry. the slackened lines on her back seemed to her an insufferable insult! “doctor, you’ll kill nancy!” pleaded charlie.

“can’t help it, son, there’s a lot of drunken devils, masquerading as ku klux, going to kill a man to-night. if we can’t reach major dameron’s in time for him to get a lot of men and stop them there’ll be a terrible tragedy.”

on the mare flew lifting her proud sensitive head higher and higher, while her heart beat her foaming flanks like a trip hammer. she never slackened her speed for the ten miles, but dashed up to major dameron’s gate at sundown, just forty-nine minutes from the time she started. the preacher patted her dripping neck.

“good, nancy! good! i believe you’ve got a soul!” she stood with her head still high, pawing the ground.

“major dameron, i’ve driven my mare here at a killing speed to tell you that young mcleod and hose norman have a crowd of desperadoes organised to kill old rufus lattimore to-night. you must get enough men together, and get there in time to stop them. sam worth overheard their plot, knows every one of them, and there will be a battle if they attempt it.”

“my god!” exclaimed the major.-“you haven’t a minute to spare. they are already loading up on moonshine whiskey.”

“doctor durham, this is the end of the ku klux klan in this county. i’ll break up every lodge in the next forty-eight hours. it’s too easy for vicious men to abuse it. its power is too great. besides its work is done.”

“i was just going to ask you to take that step, major. and now for god’s sake get there in time to-night. i’d go with you but my mare can’t stand it.”

“i’ll be there on time. never fear,” replied the major, springing on his horse already saddled at the door.

the preacher drove slowly to his home, the mare pulling steadily on her lines. she walked proudly into her stable lot, her head high and fine eyes flashing, reeled and fell dead in the shafts! the preacher couldn’t keep back the tears. he called dick and left him and charlie the sorrowful task of taking off her harness. he hurried into the house and shut himself up in his study.

that night when the crowd of young toughs assembled at their rendezvous it was barely ten o’clock.

suddenly a pistol shot rang from behind the school-house, and before mcleod and lis crowd knew what had happened fifty white horsemen wheeled into a circle about them. they were completely surprised and cowed. major dameron rode up to mcleod.

“young man, you are the prisoner of the chief of the ku klux klan of campbell county. lift your hand now and i’ll hang you in five minutes. you have forfeited your life by disobedience to my orders. you go back to hambright with me under guard. whether i execute you depends on the outcome of the next two days’ conferences with the chiefs of the township lodges.”

the major wheeled his horse and rode home. the next day he ordered every one of the eleven township chiefs to report in person to him, at different hours the same day. to each one his message was the same. he dissolved the order and issued a perpetual injunction against any division of the klan ever going on another raid.

there were only a few who could see the wisdom of such hasty action. the success had been so marvellous, their power so absolute, it seemed a pity to throw it all away. young kline especially begged the major to postpone his action.

“it’s impossible kline. the klan has done its work. the carpet-baggers have fled. the state is redeemed from the infamies of a negro government, and we have a clean economical administration, and we can keep it so as long as the white people are a unit without any secret societies.”

“but, major, we may be needed again.”

“i can’t assume the responsibility any longer. the thing is getting beyond my control. the order is full of wild youngsters and revengeful men. they try to bring their grudges against neighbours into the order, and when i refuse to authorise a raid, they take their disguises and go without authority. an archangel couldn’t command such a force.”

within two weeks from the dissolution of the klan by its chief, every lodge had been reorganised. some of the older men had dropped out, but more young men were initiated to take their places. allan mcleod led in this work of prompt reorganisation, and was elected chief of the county by the younger element which now had a large majority.

he at once served notice on major dameron, the former chief, that if he dared to interfere with his work-even by opening his mouth in criticism, he would order a raid, and thrash him.

when the major found this note under his door one morning, he read and re-read it with increasing wrath. springing on his horse he went in search of mcleod. he saw him leisurely crossing the street going from the hotel to the court house.

throwing his horse’s rein to a passing boy, he walked rapidly to him and, without a word, boxed his ears as a father would an impudent child. mcleod was so astonished, he hesitated for a moment whether to strike or to run. he did neither, but blushed red and stammered, “what do you mean, sir?”

“read that letter, you young whelp!” the major thrust the letter into his hand.

“i know nothing of this.”

“you’re a liar. you are its author. no other fool in this county would have conceived it. now, let me give you a little notice. i am prepared for you and your crowd. call any time. i can whip a hundred puppies of your breed any time by myself with one hand tied behind me, and never get a scratch. dare to lift your finger against me, or any of the men who refused to go with your new fool’s movement, and i’ll shoot you on sight as i would a mad dog.” before mcleod could reply, the major turned on his heels and left him.

mcleod made no further attempt to molest the major, nor did he allow any raids bent on murder. the sudden authority placed in his hands in a measure sobered him. he inaugurated a series of petty deviltries, whipping negroes and poor white men against whom some of his crowd had a grudge, and annoying the school teachers of negro schools.