night at the head of four hundred daring, ragged veterans, surrounded a crack Union regiment at two o'clock in the morning, and forced their commander to surrender 1800 men before he discovered the real strength of the attacking force. It stirred his blood to-night to know that General Forrest was the Commander-in-Chief of his own daring Clansmen.
Half an hour passed without a sign of the youngsters. He grew uneasy. Could they have dared to ride so early that they had reached the house before his arrival? He must know at once. He opened the gate and galloped down the narrow track at a furious pace.
A hundred yards from Peeler's front gate he drew rein and listened. A horse neighed in the woods, and the piercing shriek of a woman left nothing to doubt. They were already in the midst of their dangerous comedy.
He pressed cautiously toward the gate, riding in the shadows of the overhanging trees. They were dragging old Peeler across the yard toward the roadway, followed by the pleading voice of a woman begging for his worthless life.
Realizing that the raid was now an accomplished fact, Norton waited to see what the young fools were going to do. He was not long in doubt. They dragged their panting, perspiring victim into the edge of the woods, tied him to a sapling and bared his back. The leader stepped forward holding a lighted torch whose flickering flames made an unearthly picture of the distorted features and bulging eyes.
"Mr. Peeler," began the solemn muffled voice behind the cloth mask, "for your many sins and blasphemies against God and man the preachers of this county have assembled to-night to call you to repentance – "
The terror-stricken eyes bulged further and the fat neck twisted in an effort to see how many ghastly figures surrounded him, as he gasped:
"Oh, Lord – oh, hell – are you all preachers?"
"All!" was the solemn echo from each sepulchral figure.
"Then I'm a goner – that coffin's too big – "
"Yea, verily, there'll be nothing left when we get through – Selah!" solemnly cried the leader.
"But, say, look here, brethren," Peeler pleaded between shattering teeth, "can't we compromise this thing? I'll repent and join the church. And how'll a contribution of fifty dollars each strike you? Now what do you say to that?"
The coward's voice had melted into a pious whine.
The leader selected a switch from the bundle extended by a shrouded figure and without a word began to lay on. Peeler's screams could be heard a mile.
Norton allowed them to give him a dozen lashes and spurred his horse into the crowd. There was a wild scramble to cover and most of the boys leaped to their saddles. Three white figures resolutely stood their ground.
"What's the meaning of this, sir?" Norton sternly demanded of the man who still held the switch.
"Just a little fun, major," was the sheepish answer.
"A dangerous piece of business."
"For God's sake, save me, Major Norton!" Peeler cried, suddenly waking from the spell of fear. "They've got me, sir – and it's just like I told you, they're all preachers – I'm a goner!"
Norton sprang from his horse and faced the three white figures.
"Who's in command of this crowd?"
"I am, sir!" came the quick answer from a stalwart masquerader who suddenly stepped from the shadows.
Norton recognized the young cabinet-maker's voice, and spoke in low tense tones:
"By whose authority are you using these disguises, to-night?"
"It's none of your business!"
The tall sinewy figure suddenly stiffened, stepped close and peered into the eyes of the speaker's mask:
"Does my word go here to-night or must I call out a division of the Klan?"
A moment's hesitation and the eyes behind the mask fell:
"All right, sir – nothing but a boyish frolic," muttered the leader apologetically.
"Let this be the end of such nonsense," Norton said with a quiet drawl. "If I catch you fellows on a raid like this again I'll hang your leader to the first limb I find – good night."
A whistle blew and the beat of horses' hoofs along the narrow road told their hurried retreat.
Norton loosed the cords and led old Peeler to his house. As the fat, wobbling legs mounted the steps the younger man paused at a sound from behind and before he could turn a girl sprang from the shadows into his arms, and slipped to her knees, sobbing hysterically:
"Save me! – they're going to beat me – they'll beat me to death – don't let them – please – please don't let them!"
By the light from the window he saw that her hair was a deep rich red with the slightest tendency to curl and her wide dilated eyes a soft greenish grey.
He was too astonished to speak for a moment and Peeler hastened to say:
"That's our little gal, Cleo – that is – I – mean – of – course – it's Lucy's gal! She's just home from school and she's scared to death and I don't blame her!"
The girl clung to her rescuer with desperate grip, pressing her trembling form close with each convulsive sob.
The man drew the soft arms down, held them a moment and looked into the dumb frightened face. He was surprised at her unusual beauty. Her skin was a delicate creamy yellow, almost white, and her cheeks were tinged with the brownish red of ripe apple. As he looked in to her eyes he fancied that he saw a young leopardess from an African jungle looking at him through the lithe, graceful form of a Southern woman.
And then something happened in the shadows that stood out forever in his memory of that day as the turning point of his life.
Laughing at her fears, he suddenly lifted his hand and gently stroked the tangled red hair, smoothing it back from her forehead with a movement instinctive, and irresistible as he would have smoothed the fur of a yellow Persian kitten.
Surprised at his act, he turned without a word and left the place.
And all the way home, through the solemn starlit night, he brooded over the strange meeting with this extraordinary girl. He forgot his fight. One thing only stood out with increasing vividness – the curious and irresistible impulse that caused him to stroke her hair. Personally he had always loathed the Southern white man who stooped and crawled through the shadows to meet such women. She was a negress and he knew it, and yet the act was instinctive and irresistible.
Why?
He asked himself the question a hundred times, and the longer he faced it the angrier he became at his stupid folly. For hours he lay awake, seeing in the darkness only the face of this girl.
CHAPTER II
CLEO ENTERS
The conference of the carpetbagger with the little Governor proved more ominous than even Norton had feared. The blow struck was so daring, so swift and unexpected it stunned for a moment the entire white race.
When the editor reached his office on the second morning after the raid, his
