TRUE to his word Butler called for a regiment of United States troops.

On the second day after his interview with the Judge, John Graham watched from his office window the blue coats march through the streets of Independence to their camp.

He turned to his chair beside a quaint old mahogany desk and wrote an official order to each of the eight district chiefs of the Invisible Empire who were under his command in the state.

When he had finished his task he sat for an hour in silence staring out of his window and seeing nothing save the big brown eyes of a beautiful girl—eyes of extraordinary size and brilliance that seemed to be searching the depths of his soul. It was a new and startling experience in his life. He had made love harmlessly after the gallant fashion of his race to many girls; yet none of them had found the man within.

He was angry with himself now for his inability to shake off the impression Stella Butler had made. He hated her very name. The idea of his ever seeking the hand of a Butler in marriage made him shiver. To even meet her socially with such a father was unthinkable. And yet he kept thinking.

Two things especially about her haunted him with persistence and had thrown a spell over his imagination—the strange appealing tenderness of her eyes and the marvellous low notes of her voice, a voice at once musical, and warm with slumbering passion. Her voice seemed the echo of ravishing music he had heard somewhere, or dreamed or caught in another world he fancied sometimes his soul had inhabited before reaching this. Never had he heard a voice so full of feeling, so soft, so seductive, so full of tender appeal. Its every accent seemed to caress.

He cursed himself for brooding over her and then came back to his brooding with the certainty of fate. Yet it should make no difference in his fight with old Butler. He would kick that fawning, creeping scoundrel out of his house if it was the last and only thing he ever accomplished on earth. The only question he still debated was the time and method of the execution of his plan.

One thing became more and more clear—he was going to need the full use of every faculty with which God had endowed him and he must set his house in order.

He opened the door of the little cupboard above his desk and took from it a decanter of moonshine whiskey Dan Wiley, one of his mountain men, had always kept filled for him. From the drawer he took two packs of cards and a case of poker chips. The cards and chips he rolled in a newspaper, placed in his stove and set them on fire. He smiled as he stood and listened to the roar of the sudden blaze. He raised his window and hurled the red-eyed decanter across the vacant lot in the rear of his office and saw it break into a hundred fragments on a pile of stones.

“Wonder what Dan will say to that when he comes this morning?” he exclaimed, looking at his watch and resuming his seat.

He heard a stealthy footfall at the door, turned and saw the tall lanky form of the mountaineer smiling at him.

“Well, Chief, you sent for me?”

“Yes, come in Dan!”

Dan Wiley tipped in and stood pulling his long moustache thoughtfully, before taking a chair.

“What’s on your mind?” asked John.

“I heered somethin’.”

“About me?”

“Yes, and it pestered me.”

“Well?”

“They say you got drunk night ’fore last.”

“And you’re going to preach me a sermon on temperance, you confounded old moonshining distilling sinner!”

“Ye mustn’t git drunk,” observed Dan seriously.

“But, didn’t you bring me the whiskey?”

“Not to git drunk on. I brought it as a compliment. My whiskey’s pure mountain dew, life restorer—it’s medicine.”

“It’s good whiskey, I’ll say that,” said John. “Even if you don’t pay taxes on it. You brought the men?”

“Yes, but Chief, I’m oneasy.”

“What about?”

“Don’t like the looks er them dam Yankees. I’m a member er the church an’ a law abidin’ citizen.”

“Yet I hear that a revenue officer passed away in your township last fall.”

“Rattlesnakes and Revenue officers don’t count—they ain’t human.”

“I see!” laughed John.

“Say,” Dan whispered, “you ain’t calculatin’ ter make a raid ternight with them thousand blue-coats paradin’ round this town, are ye?”

“That’s my business, Dan,” was John’s smiling answer. “It’s your business as a faithful night-hawk of the Empire to obey orders. Are you ready?”

“Well, Chief, I followed you four years in the war, an’ I’ve never showed the white feather yet, but these is ticklish times. There’s a powerful lot er damfools gettin’ ermongst us, an’ I want ter ax ye one question?”

“What?”

“Are ye goin’ ter git drunk ter-night?”

John walked to Dan’s side and placed his hand on his shoulder, and said slowly:

“I’ll never touch another drop of liquor as long as I live. Does that satisfy you?”

“I never knowd a Graham ter break his word.” John pressed the mountaineer’s hand.

“Thanks Dan.”

“I’m with you—and I’ll charge the mouth of the pit with my bare hands if you give the order.”

“Good. Meet me at the spring in the woods behind the old cemetery at eleven o’clock to-night with forty picked men.”

“Forty!—better make it an even thousand, man for man with the Yanks.”

“Just forty men, mark you—picked men, not a boy or a fool among them.”

“I understand,” said Dan, turning on his heel toward the door.

“And see to it”—called John—“I want them mounted on the best horses in the county and every man armed to the teeth.”

Dan nodded and disappeared.

By eight o’clock the town was in a ferment of excitement and the streets were crowded with feverish groups discussing a rumour which late in the afternoon had spread like wild-fire. From some mysterious source had come the announcement that a great Ku Klux parade was to take place in Independence at midnight for the purpose of overawing if not attacking the regiment of soldiers, which had just been quartered in the town.

By eleven o’clock the entire white population, men, women and children, were crowding the sidewalks of the main street.

Billy Graham passed John’s office with Susie Wilson leaning on his arm. Billy was in high feather and Susie silent and depressed.

“Great Scott, Miss Susie, what’s the matter? This isn’t a funeral. It’s a triumphant demonstration of power to our oppressors.”

“I wish they wouldn’t do it with all these troops in town,” answered the girl, anxiously glancing at the dark window of John’s office.

“Bah! The Ku Klux have been getting pusillanimous of late—haven’t been on a raid in six months. They need a leader. Give me a hundred of those white mounted men and I’d be the master of this county in ten days!”

“It’s a dangerous job, Billy.”

“That’s the only kind of a job that interests me. A dozen wholesome raids would put these scalawags and carpetbaggers out of business. There ought to be five thousand men in line tonight. I’ll bet they don’t muster a thousand. It wouldn’t surprise me if they backed out altogether.”

“I wish they would,” sighed Susie.

“Of course you do, little girl,” said Billy with sudden patronising tenderness. “I know what you need.”

Susie smiled and asked demurely:

“What?”

Billy seized both her hands and drew her under the shadow of a tree.

“A strong manly breast on which to lean—Susie, my Darling, I love you! Will you be my wife?”

Susie burst into a fit of laughter and Billy dropped her hands in rage.

“You treat the offer of my heart as a senseless joke, young woman?”

“No, Billy dear, I don’t. I appreciate it more than words can express. You have paid me the highest tribute a girl can receive, but the idea of marrying a boy of your age is ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous! Ridiculous! How dare you insult me? I’m as old as you are!” thundered Billy.

“Yes, we are each eighteen.”

“And your mother married at sixteen.”

“And she’s still only sixteen,” said the girl with a sigh.

“Wait a few days and I’ll show you whether I’m a man or not,” said Billy, with insulted dignity. “Come, your mother is waiting for us at the corner.”

Mrs. Wilson stood among a group of boys chatting and joking. She belonged to the type of widows, fair, fat and frivolous. Time had dealt gently with her. She was still handsome in spite of her weight, and intensely jealous lest her serious daughter supplant her in the affections of the youth of Independence.

She greeted Billy with just the words to heal his wounded vanity.

“My! Billy, but you look serious and manly! I’d kiss you if the other boys were not here. You ought to be at the head of that line of white raiders to-night”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“I’ll be making your disguise before long.”

Billy turned from Susie and devoted himself with dignity to her mother.

The widow lifted her hand in sudden warning.

“Sh! Billy, the enemy! There goes Stella Butler with that fat little detective whom the Judge has imported with the troops.”

“Captain” Suggs of the Secret Service was more than duly impressed with his importance as he forced his pudgy figure through the throng on the sidewalk, ostentatiously protecting Stella from the touch of the crowd.

“It’s arrant nonsense, Miss Stella,” he was saying, as they passed. “These Southern people are savages, I know——”

“Why, Captain, I’m a Southerner too,” said the girl archly.

“I mean the disloyal traitors of the South—not the broad-minded patriots like your father,” Suggs hastened to explain. “I say it’s arrant nonsense this talk of such a parade by these traitors. I credit them with too much cunning to dare to flaunt their treason in the streets here to-night with a regiment of troops and the head of the Secret Service on the spot.”

The little fellow expanded his chest and puffed his cheeks.

Billy doubled his fist, and made a dash for him. With a suppressed scream, Mrs. Wilson caught him.

“Billy! for heaven’s sake, are you crazy!” They passed on down the street toward the Judge’s house.

“I’m not so sure they will not parade, Mr. Suggs,” Stella replied.

“Don’t be alarmed, Miss Stella!” he urged soothingly. “I’ve taken ample means to protect you and your father from any attack of these assassins and desperadoes if they dare enter the town.”

“I’m not afraid of them, Captain, she answered lightly.

“Of course not—we’re here and ready for them. The very audacity of their manner is an insult to the Government.”

“I like audacity. It stirs your blood,” Stella cried, her brown eyes twinkling.

Suggs leaned nearer and said in his deepest voice:

“Let them dare this insult to authority to-night and you’ll see audacity come to sudden grief in front of your father’s house.”

“Have you prepared an ambush?” Stella asked eagerly.

“Better. We’ve an extra hundred loyal policemen on the spot. Each of them is sworn to capture dead or alive any Ku Klux raider who shows his head. I hope they’ll come—but it’s too good to be true. With a dozen prisoners safe in jail, before to-morrow dawns I’ll have the secrets of the Klan in my pocket. I’ll make things hum in Washington. Watch me. It’s the big opportunity of life I’ve been waiting for—my only fear is I’ll miss it.”

“I think you’ll get it, Mr. Suggs,” was the laughing answer.

She had scarcely spoken, when a tow-headed boy rushed into the middle of the street and yelled, “Gee bucks! Look out! They’re a comin’!”

Men, women and children rushed into the street.

Suggs stood irresolute and tightened his grip on Stella’s arm.

Down the street cheers burst forth and as they died away the clatter of horses’ hoofs rang clear, distinct, defiant. They were riding slowly as in dress parade.

Another cheer was heard and Suggs stepped into the street and reconnoitred.

His face wore a puzzled look as he returned to Stella’s side.

“They’ve actually ridden past the regimental camp. I can’t understand why the Colonel did not attack them.”

“Gee Whilikens, there’s a million of ’em!” cried a boy nearby.

“Perhaps the Colonel thought discretion the better part of valour, Mr. Suggs,” suggested Stella smilingly.

“Red tape,” the detective explained with disgust—“he has no order. Just wait until the assassins walk into the trap I’ve laid for them. Come, we will hurry to your gate. I want you to see what happens.”

They crossed the street and hurried to the Judge’s place.

Suggs summoned the commander of his force of “metropolitan” police and in short sharp tones gave his orders.

“Are your men all ready, officer?”

“Yessir!”

“Fully armed?”

“You bet.”

“Handcuffs ready?”

“All ready.”

“Good. Throw your line, double column, across the street, stop the parade and arrest them one at a time.”

Suggs squared his round shoulders as best he could; the officer saluted and returned to his place to execute the order.

When the cordon formed across the street the boys yelled and the news flashed from lip to lip far down the line. A great crowd quickly gathered surging back and forth in waves of excitement as the raiders approached.

The white ghostlike figures could now be seen, the draped horse and rider appearing of gigantic size in the shimmering moonlight.

“Now we’ll have some fun,” exclaimed Suggs with a triumphant smile.

Stella trembled with excitement, two bright red spots appearing on her dimpled cheeks, her eyes sparkling.

Amid constant cheers from the crowds the line of white figures slowly approached the cordon of police without apparently noticing their existence.

“Now for the climax of the drama!” cried Suggs, watching with eager interest the rapidly closing space between the Clansmen and his police.

The officer in command, noting an uneasy tension along his lines, crossed the street in front of his men exhorting them.

“Stand your ground, boys!” he said firmly.

“Better save your hides, you scalawag skunks!” yelled an urchin from the crowd.

The leader of the Klan was now but ten feet away, towering tall, white and terrible, with an apparently interminable procession of mounted ghosts behind him.

The line of police swayed in the centre.

The Clansman leader lifted his hand, and the shrill scream of his whistle rang three times, and each white figure answered with a long piercing cry.

The police cordon broke into scurrying fragments and melted into the throngs on the sidewalks, while the procession of white and scarlet horsemen, without a pause, passed slowly on amid shouts of laughter from the people who had witnessed the fiasco.

“Well, I’ll be d———! excuse me, Miss Stella!”

Suggs cried in a stupor of blank amazement, his round little figure suddenly collapsing like a punctured balloon.

“You can’t help admiring such men, Captain!” the girl laughed.

Suggs who had lost the power of speech wandered among the crowd in search of his commanding officer.

As the parade passed the Judge’s gate, Stella stood wide-eyed, tense with excitement, watching the tall horseman with two scarlet crosses on his breast who led the procession.

“The spirit of some daring knight of the middle ages come back to earth again!” she cried. “Superb! Superb! I could surrender to such a man!”

A lace handkerchief fluttered from her bosom and waved a moment above her head. The tall figure turned in astonishment, bowed, tipped his spiked helmet, and without realising it suddenly reined his horse to a stand—and the whole line halted.

The leader whispered to a tall figure by his side, apparently his orderly, who turned to the line behind and shouted.

“Boys! three cheers for the little gal at the gate! She’s all right! The purtiest little gal in the countee—oh!”

A rousing cheer rose from the ranks.

A ripple of sweet girlish laughter broke the silence which followed, the lace handkerchief fluttered again and the line moved slowly on.

Stella counted them.

“Only forty men. And they dared a regiment!” With another laugh, she deserted Suggs and disappeared in the flowers and shrubbery toward the house as the last echoes of the raiders died away in the distance.

The Clansmen descended a hill, turned sharply to the right toward the river and broke into a quick gallop. Within thirty minutes they entered a forest on the river bank, and down its dim aisles, lit by moonbeams, slowly wound their way to their old rendezvous.

The signal was given to dismount and disrobe the horses. Within a minute the white figures gathered about a newly opened grave.

The men began to whisper excitedly to one another.

“What’s this?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Who’s dead?”

“You’re too many for me!”

“What’s up, Steve Hoyle?” asked one of the raiders.

“It’s beyond me, sonny. The Grand Dragon of the State honours us with his presence to-night and is in command—he will no doubt explain. Have a drink.” He handed the group a flask of whiskey, and passed on.

When the men had assembled beside the shallow grave, the chaplain led in prayer.

The tall figure with the double scarlet cross on his breast removed his helmet and faced the men.

“Boys,” began John Graham, “you have assembled here to-night for the last time as members of the Invisible Empire!”

“Hell!”

“What’s that?”

The exclamations, half incredulous, half angry, came from every direction with suddenness and unanimity which showed the men to be utterly unprepared for such an announcement.

“Yes,” the even voice went on, “I hold in my hand an official order of the Grand Wizard of the Empire, dissolving its existence for all time. Our Commander-in-chief has given the word. As loyal members of the order, we accept his message.”

“Then our parade to-night was not a defiance of these soldiers who have marched into town?” sneered a voice.

“No, Steve Hoyle, it was not. Our parade to-night was in accordance with this order of dissolution. It was our last formal appearance. Our work is done——”

Steve saw in a flash his opportunity to defeat his enemy and make himself not only the master of his Congressional District but of the state itself.

“Not by a damn sight!” snapped the big square jaw.

“You refuse as the commander of this district to obey the order of the Grand Wizard?” asked the tall quiet figure.

“I refuse, John Graham, to accept your word as the edict of God!” was the quick retort. “Our men can vote on this and decide for themselves.”

“Yes, vote on it!”

“We’ll decide for ourselves!”

The quick responses which came from all sides showed the temper of the men. John Graham stepped in front of the big leader of the district.

“Look here, Steve Hoyle, I want no trouble with you to-night, nor in the future—but I’m going to carry this order into execution here and now.”

“Let’s see you do it!” was the defiant answer.

“I will,” he continued. “Boys!”

There was the ring of conscious authority in his tones and the men responded with sharp attention.

“You have each sworn to obey your superior officer on the penalty of your life?”

“Yes!”

“You are men of your word. As the Grand Dragon of the State I command you to deliver to me immediately your helmets and robes.”

With the precision of soldiers they deposited them in the open grave. Steve Hoyle surrendered his last.

When all had been placed in the grave, John Graham removed his own, reverently placed it with the others, tied two pieces of pine into the form of the fiery cross, lighted its ends, drew the ritual of the Klan from his pocket, set it on fire and held it over the grave while the ashes slowly fell on the folds of the white and scarlet regalia which he also ignited. Some of the men were sobbing. While the regalia rapidly burned he turned and said:



0073

“Boys, I thank you. You have helped me do a painful thing. But it is best. Our work is done. We have rescued our state from Negro rule. We dissolve this powerful secret order in time to save you from persecution, exile, imprisonment and death. The National Government is getting ready to strike. When the blow falls it will be on the vanished shadow of a ghost. There’s a time to fight, and a time to retreat. We retreat from a field of victory.

“I should have dissolved the Klan a month ago. I confess to you a secret. I waited because I meant to strike with it a blow at a personal enemy. I realise now that I stood as your leader on the brink of the precipice of social anarchy. Forgive me for the wrong I might have done, had you followed me. As Grand Dragon of the Empire I declare this order dissolved forever in the state of North Carolina!”

He seized a shovel and covered with earth and leaves the ashes of the burned regalia.

Steve Hoyle stepped quickly in front of his rival. The veins on his massive neck stood out like cords and his eyes shone ominously in the moonlight. The slender figure of John Graham instinctively stiffened at the threat of his movement as the two men faced each other.

“The Klan is now a thing of the past?” asked Steve.

“Yes.”

“As though it had never been?”

“As though it had never existed.”

“Then your authority is at an end?”

“As an officer of the Klan, yes. As a leader of men, no.”

“The officer only interests me—Boys!” Steve’s angry voice rang with defiance.

The men gathered closer.

“The Invisible Empire is no more. Its officers are as dead as the ashes of its ritual. Meet me here to-morrow night at eleven o’clock to organise a new order of patriots! Will you come?”

“Yes!”

“You bet your life!”

The answers seemed to leap from every throat at the same moment.

John Graham’s face went white for a moment and his fist closed.

“Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel, Steve Hoyle,” he said with slow emphasis.

“And traitors pose as moral leaders,” was the retort.

“Time will show which of us is a traitor. Will you dare thus to defy me and reorganise this Klan?”

“Wait and see!”

John Graham stepped close to his rival, and, in a low voice unheard save by the man to whom he spoke, said:

“Take back that order and tell those men to go home and stay there.”

“I’ll see you in hell first!” came the answer in a growl.

Scarcely had the words passed his lips when John Graham’s fist shot into his rival’s face.

The blow was delivered so quickly Steve’s heavy form struck the ground before the astonished men could interfere.

In a moment a dozen men sprang between them and John said with quiet emphasis, glaring at his enemy:

“I’ll be in my office at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, to receive any communication you may wish to make—you understand!”

And deliberately mounting his horse, he rode away into the night alone.