“We have no time to lose,” Carson said. “If we are to accomplish anything we must be about it. Gentlemen, what I may propose may, in a way, be asking you to make a sacrifice almost as great as that of open resistance. I am going to ask you, law-abiding citizens that you are, to break the law, as you understand it, but not law as the best wisdom of man intended it to be. This section is in a state of open lawlessness. The law I'm going to ask you to break is already broken. The highest court might hold that we would be no better, in _fact_, than the army of law-breakers headed this way with the foam of race hatred on their lips, its insane blaze in their eyes that till recently beamed only in gentleness and human love. But I'm going to ask you to chose between two evils--to let an everlasting injustice be done at the hand of a hate that will drown in tears of regret in time to come, or the lesser evil of breaking an already broken law. You are all good citizens, and I tremble and blush over my audacity in asking you to do what you have never in any form done before.” Carson paused. Wondering silence fell on the group. Upon each face struggled evidences of an almost painful desire to grasp his meaning. That it was momentous no man there doubted. Even the ever equable Garner was shaken from, his habitual stoic attitude, and with his delicate fingers rigidly supporting his great head he stared open-mouthed at the speaker. “Well, well, what is it?” he presently asked. “There is only one chance I see,” and Dwight stood erect, his arms folded, and stepped back so that the light of the lamp fell full upon his tense features. The patch of sticking plaster stood out from his pale skin, giving his perspiring brow an uncanny look. “There is only one thing to do, my friends, and without your help I stand powerless. I suggest that we form ourselves into a supposed mob of disguised men, that we go ahead of the others to the jail, and actually _force Burt Barrett to turn the prisoner over to us_.” “Great God!” Garner, stood up, and leaned on the table. “_Then_ what--what would you do? Good Lord!” Carson pointed steadily to the cellar-door and swallowed the lump of excitement in his throat. “I would, unseen by any one, if possible, bring him here and imprison him, in that cellar, guarded by us only till--till such a time as we could safely deliver him to a court of justice.” “By God, you _are_ a wheel-hoss!” burst from Pole Baker's lips. “That's as easy as failin' off a log.” “Do you mean to make Burt Barrett believe we are--are actually bent on lynching the negro?” demanded Keith Gordon, new-born enthusiasm bubbling from his eyes and voice.