Juniper cowered lower in his seat. “Fo’ de Lawd, Marse Trench, I can’t tell you!” he sobbed. “Who was in the room with you?” asked Trench sharply. “I can’t tell!” the negro whimpered; “I don’ know.” “Yes, you do,” said Caleb, “and you will be forced to tell it in court. Probably, before you go to court, if the people catch you,” he added cold-bloodedly. Juniper fell on his knees; it seemed as if his face had turned lead color instead of brown, and his teeth chattered. “Dey’s gwine ter lynch me!” he sobbed, “an’ fo’ de Lawd, massa, I ain’t done it!” Caleb looked at him unmoved. “If you know who did it, and do not tell, you are what they call in law an accessory after the fact, and you can be punished.” Juniper shook from head to foot. “Marse Caleb,” he said, with sudden solemnity, “de Lawd made us both, de white an’ de black, I ain’t gwine ter b’lieb dat He’ll ferget me bekase I’se black! I ain’t murdered no one.” Caleb regarded him in silence; the force and eloquence of Juniper’s simple plea carried its own conviction. Yet, he knew that the negro could name the murderer and was afraid to. There was a tense moment, then far off a sound, awful in the darkness of early morning,--the swift galloping of horses on the hard highroad. “Dey’s comin’,” said Juniper in a dry whisper, his lips twisting; “dey’s comin’ ter kill me--de Lawd hab mercy on my soul!” Nearer drew the sound of horses’ feet, nearer the swift and awful death. Caleb Trench blew out his light; through the window crevices showed faint gray streaks. Shot was standing up now, growling. Caleb sent him into the room with little Sammy, and shut the door on them. Then he took the almost senseless negro by the collar and dragged him to the stairs. “Go up!” he ordered sternly; “go to the attic and drag up the ladder after you.” Juniper clung to him. “Save me!” he sobbed, “I ain’t dun it; I ain’t murdered him!” “Go!” ordered Caleb sharply. Already there was a summons at his door, and he heard the trample of the horses. Juniper went crawling up the stairs and disappeared into the darkness above. Caleb went to his desk and took down the telephone receiver, got a reply and sent a brief message; then he quietly put his pistol in his pocket and went deliberately to the front door and threw it open. As he did it some one cut the telephone connection, but it was too late. In the brief interval since he had admitted the fugitive, day had dawned in the far East, and the first light seemed to touch the world with the whiteness of wood ashes; even the cottonwoods showed weirdly across the road. All around the house were mounted men, and nearly every man wore a black mask. The sight was gruesome, but it stirred something like wrath in Caleb’s heart; how many men were here to murder one poor frightened creature, with the intellect of a child and the soul of a savage!