“Don't call it _my_ work,” said Baker, admiringly. “I've been through a sight of secret things in my time, but I never heard of a scheme as slick an' deep-laid as this. If she goes through safe I'll put you at the top of my list. It looks like it will work, but a body never kin tell. Burt Barrett is the next hill to climb. I don't know him well enough to foresee what stand he'll take. Boys, have yore guns ready, an' when I order you to take aim, you do it as if you intend to make a hole in whatever is in front of you. Our bluff is the biggest that ever was thought of, but it has to go. Now, come on!” Through the open gateway they marched across the public lawn covered with fresh green grass to the jail near by. A dog chained in a kennel behind the house waked and snarled, but he did not bark. There was a little porch at the entrance to the building, and along this the ghostly band silently arranged themselves. “Hello in thar, Burt Barrett!” Pole suddenly cried out, in sharp, stern tones, and there was a pause. Then from the darkness within came the sound of some one striking a match. A flickering light flared up in the room on the right of the entrance; then the voice of a woman was heard. “Burt, what is it?” she asked, in a startled tone. “I don't know; I'll see,” a coarser voice made answer. Another pause and a door on the inside was opened, then the heavier outer one, and Burt Barrett, half dressed, stood staring at the grewsome assemblage before him. [Illustration: 0233] “We've come after that damned nigger,” said Baker, succinctly, his tone so low in his throat that even an intimate friend would not have recognized it, and as he spoke he raised his coil of rope and tapped the floor of the porch. Barrett, as many a brave man would have done in his place, stood helplessly bewildered. Presently he drew himself together and said, firmly: “Gentlemen, I'm a sworn officer of the law. I've got a duty to perform and I'm going to do it.” And thereupon they saw the barrel of a revolver which the jailer held in his hand. In the awful stillness that engulfed his words the click of its hammer, as the weapon was cocked, sounded sharp and distinct. “Too bad, but he's goin' to act ugly, boys,” Pole said, with grim finality. “He is a white man _in looks_, but he's j'ined forces with the black devils that are bent on rulin' our land. Steady, take aim! If thar's less'n twenty holes in his carcass when he's examined in the mornin' it will stand for some member's eternal disgrace. Aim careful!” There was a startled scream at the half-open window of the bedroom on the right and the jailer's wife thrust out her head. “Don't shoot 'im!” she screamed. “Don't! Give 'em the keys, Burt. Are you a fool?” “He certainly looks it,” was Baker's comment, in a tone of well-assumed only half-bridled rage. “Give 'im ten seconds to drap them keys, boys. I'll count. When I say ten blaze away, an' let a yawnin' hell take 'im.” “Gentlemen, I--”