“She simply must bear it,” Garner said, gloomily. “We must find a way to brace her up to the ordeal. I have it. All my hopes are based on our making such a clear statement before Squire Felton, with the testimony of several witnesses as to Willis's threats against you, that he will throw it out of court. I can see the squire to-day and have a hearing set for to-morrow. We'll make quick work of it. I'll also see your father and--” “My father!” Carson exclaimed, despondently. “Yes, I'll see him and explain the whole thing. I think I can get him to keep the matter from reaching your mother till after the hearing. She is still confined to her room, and surely your father can manage that part of it.” “Yes,” Carson replied, gloomily; “and he will do all he can, though it's going to be a terrible blow to him. But--if--if the justice court should bind me over, and I should have to go to jail to await trial, then my mother--” “Don't think about her now!” Garner said, testily. “Let's work for a prompt dismissal and not look on the dark side till we have to. I'll run down and talk to your father at once, before the rumor reaches him and drives him crazy. I tell you it's in the very air; I've felt it for several days.” CHAPTER XLIV. [Illustration: 9390] N his office in one corner of his great grain and cotton warehouse, at a dusty, littered desk before a murky, cobweb-bed window, Garner found old Dwight, his lap full of telegraphic reports, his head submerged in a morning paper containing the market and crop news in general. Outside of the thin-walled office heavy iron trucks, in the grasp of brawny black men, rattled and rumbled over the heavy floor and across weighty skids into open cars in the rear. There was the creaking sound of the big hand elevators engaged in hoisting and lowering bales, barrels, bags, and casks, the mellow sing-song of the light-hearted negroes as they toiled, blissfully ignorant of the profound gloom which had fallen on the defender of their rights. “I came to see you on an important matter concerning Carson,” Garner began, as he leaned over the old man's desk. Dwight lowered his paper, shrugged his shoulders, and sniffed. “Campaign funds, I reckon,” he said. “Well, I've been looking for some such demand. In fact, I've been astonished that you fellows haven't been after me sooner. I'll do anything but buy whiskey to give away. I'm against that custom.” “It wasn't _that_,” said Garner, who, usually plain-spoken, shrank from beating about the bush even in so delicate a matter. “The truth is, Carson is in a little trouble, Mr. Dwight.”