“Carson, Carson! are you down there?” It was a man's voice from an upper window. “Yes, father, what is it?” “Your mother wants to see you right now. She's waked up and is worrying. Come on in.” “You'll both excuse me for just a moment, I know,” Carson said, as if glad of the interruption. “I'll be back presently. I haven't seen my mother since I returned, and she is very nervous and easily excited.” CHAPTER XXXIV [Illustration: 9309] O you are the only lady member of the secret gang that stole my prisoner!” the sheriff said, laughingly. “The boys told me all about it.” “I wasn't taken in till they had done all the work,” Helen smiled. “I was only an honorary addition, elected more to keep my mouth shut than for any other service I could perform.” “Oh, _that_ was it!” Braider laughed. “Well, they certainly put the thing through. I've mixed up in a lot of hair-raising scrapes in my time, but that kidnapping business was the brightest idea ever sprung from a man's head. This fellow Dwight is a corker. Did he tell you what he went through last night?” “Not a thing,” replied Helen; “the truth is, I have an idea he was trying to mislead me.” “Well, he certainly was if he didn't tell you he had the hardest fight for his life and that nigger's that ever a man made. You noticed how hoarse he was, didn't you? That is due to it. The poor chap was up all last night and drove the biggest part of to-day. I'll bet, strong as he is, he's as limber as a dish-rag.” “Then he really had trouble?” Helen breathed, heavily. “Trouble! And he didn't mention it to you? Young men in this day and time certainly play their cards peculiar. When I was on the carpet we boys had a way of making the most to women folks of everything we did, and it was generally the loudest talker that won the game. But here I find this 'town dude,' as the country people call his sort, actually trying to make you think he went to Chattanooga last night in a Pullman car. Good Lord, it gives me the all-overs to think of it! I heard all about it. I met a man who was along, and he told me the whole thing from start to finish.” “What was it?” Helen asked, breathlessly. “Why,” answered Braider, casting a glance towards Dwight's as if fearful of being overheard, “I didn't know it, but somehow the mob had got wind of what Carson intended to do, and, bless you, they were waiting for him near the State line primed and cocked. The boy's enemies had fixed him. They had worked the mob up to the highest pitch of fury with all sorts of tales against Pete. They had produced men who had really heard the nigger threaten to harm Johnson, and they themselves testified that Carson was saving the nigger only to capture black voters as their friend and benefactor. The mob was mad as Tucker at him for tricking them the other night, and they certainly had it in for him.” “They were mad at Carson _personally_, then?” Helen said.