“_Were_ they? They were ready to drink his blood. They halted the buggy, took them both out, and tied them.” “Tied Car--” Helen's voice died away, and she stood staring at Braider unable to speak. “Yes, they tied them both and led them off into the woods. They then fastened Pete to a stump and piled sticks and brush around him and told Carson they were going to make him see them burn the boy alive and when that was done they intended to silence his tongue by shooting him dead in his tracks.” Helen covered her face with her hands and stifled a groan. “His power of gab saved him, Miss Helen,” Braider went on. “It saved them both. It wasn't any begging, either; that wouldn't have gone with that sort of gang. With his hands and feet tied he began to talk--that's what ails his throat now--and the man that confessed it to me said such rapid fire of words and argument never before rolled from human lips. He told them he knew they would kill him; that they were a merciless band of desperadoes; but he was going to fire some truths at them that they would remember after he was gone, I'm no talker, Miss Helen. I can't possibly repeat what the man told me. He said at first Carson couldn't get their attention, but after awhile, when they were getting ready to apply the match, something in Dwight's voice caught their ear and they paused. He talked and talked, until a man behind him, in open defiance, cut the cords that held his hands. Later another cut his feet loose, and then Carson walked boldly up to Pete and stood beside him, and although a growl of fury was still in the air he kept talking. The man that told me about it said Carson first picked up one of the sticks around the prisoner and hurled it from him to emphasize something he said, then another and another, until the mob saw him kicking the sticks away and roaring out an offer to fight the whole bunch single-handed. Gee whiz! I'd have given ten years of my life to have heard it. He hadn't a thing to say in favor of Pete's general character; he said the boy was an idle, fun-loving, shiftless fellow, but he was innocent of the crime charged against him and he should not die like a dog. He spoke of the fine characters of Pete's mother and father and of the old woman's grief, and then, Miss Helen, he said something about _you_, and the man that told me about it said that one thing did more to soften and quell the crowd than anything else.” “He said something about _me?_” Helen cried. “Me?”